


Dream Visions

by ContreParry



Series: A gift of Knowledge and Love [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Dragon Age Kink Meme.</p>
<p>Fenris finds no rest in his dreams, and demons hunt his every step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Dragon Age Kink Meme.
> 
> Anon prompt "Fenris is pretty conspicuous in the Fade, and his fear, resentment, and anger makes for a heady cocktail for the denizens of the Fade. He becomes a target of demons and night after night has nightmares where he brutalizes the man who epitomizes his fear of mages in general- Anders."
> 
> Title comes from the literary device, the dream vision (or visio). Dream visions are a dream or vision which reveals knowledge or a truth unavailable to the dreamer in a normal waking state.

It used to be Danarius who visited him in the dead of night, when all was quiet and the Fade ran through him like ice in his veins. The magister's eyes burned bright with cold fire. The silverite chain always gleamed in his claw-like grip, and Danarius would wordlessly summon him to kneel and beg at his master's feet like a whipped, starved dog desperate for affection. No words were uttered. His eyes said everything.  


Fenris would move his muscles forward as his mind protested that he was free. No matter the mental struggle he always stepped closer to the silver chain, to the thick collar that was there to keep him tame, make him pliant, make him obey. Stripped of freedom, stripped of self-worth, stripped of his pride... he was nothing without a goal to reach, a master to follow, a mage to obey. Fenris would wake in a cold sweat, heart racing, just before the collar snapped shut, heavy around his throat.  


It used to be Danarius. But now Fenris held the chain, and the catching-collar was tightly latched around a different neck. A pale, slightly freckled neck, skin bare and unblemished, usually covered by a thick coat and ratty feathers. The mage's neck. Anders.  


Isn't this better? Fenris had control now. A mage could never hurt him, hurt anyone again, as long as he kept a hold of the chain. The mage's ragged red-gold hair hung limply around his gaunt face as he kneeled where Fenris once kneeled. Docile. Obedient. The magic in his blood and the demon in his body lay dormant. No sparks twisted at the mage's fingertips. They never would again.  


Fenris clutched the chain in his hand and pulled, satisfaction filling his body as the mage choked on his (not Fenris's collar, not any longer, it was his) collar. Never again. Never held in the thrall of a mage again. No longer a captive to a mage's whim. He danced to his own song now. He held the chain now, the metal gripped tightly in hands scarred by the horror that magic caused. He would make the mage walk where he wanted. Fenris had that strength. He earned this right. Now the mage would crawl, would beg, would obey because Fenris had every right to make him writhe in the dirt and choke on a collar that would choke him the moment he was free to become a magister-  


But when Fenris looked down at his hands they were bony and pale. His knuckles were not covered in lyrium but in coarse dark hair, and though he did not wear his gauntlets his hands were stained with blood. But they were no longer his hands, no longer the hands of Fenris the slave or Fenris the fugitive.  


They were Danarius's hands.  


Fenris woke from this dream screaming, the lyrium in his body pulsing in rhythm to the quick-slow staccato beat of his heart. Ba-bump -pulse-. Ba-bump -pulse-. He stumbled to the bathing chamber and dunked his head into the cold water of the bath to drown out the fear and the residual pain that flared through his markings. Fenris came up choking, gasping for air, and slumped over the side of the large copper tub that he hadn't bothered to empty after his evening bath. The ends of his white hair dangled in the slightly scented, blood-tinged water.  


“Fasta vass.” He muttered, pushing his drenched hair out of his face. The mage. The Maker forsaken mage. Even if Fenris despised the man, the last thing he wanted was to chain him like a dog, like a slave. They were comrades-in-arms, allies. He was an obnoxious irritant at best and a lurking threat at worst, but Fenris would not imprison another without cause. He was no magister! He would not let his hatred rule him. He would not become Danarius. He had to believe that he was better than that. Fenris got up on shaky legs and padded barefoot down the dark, rotting halls of the mansion to the wine cellar to clear his head.

 

“Well you look like shit.” The mage commented the next day as they accompanied Hawke on yet another misadventure. This time they were climbing Sundermount to return some lost item or whatever chore Hawke felt needed to be done that day. Fenris refused to acknowledge the mage, the visions from the night before haunting his memory even under the bright afternoon sunlight.  


“I think he looks delectable! So tightly wound up and brooding. Makes a woman want to gobble him up whole.” Isabela teased, darting away towards the front of the group when Fenris glared in her direction. Fenris did not see what was so amusing about his posture, and he was not willing to be teased today, even by the incorrigible Isabela.  


“Truly, you look like death. Didn't sleep well? Too busy plotting brand new ways to subjugate more innocent mages to get some shut eye?” The mage mocked him, tilting his head upwards to look down his long, freckled nose at Fenris.  


Fenris's hackles rose as if the mage had cast one of his spells on him. How could he know? How could the mage possibly know what he dreamed of? Did he see the chain that haunted Fenris's nightmares? Did he know how tight the collar was around his neck, how it constricted breathing and dug into the tender flesh of his throat? How had he felt, being chained as a slave was chained and being utterly helpless? Why wasn't he saying anything?  


“Ugh, Maker's balls. I don't want to know.” Anders muttered as he brushed past Fenris. “I have things to do. Plants to collect, patients to care for. I don't need to spend my time on a bigoted piece of nug-” The man continued muttering under his breath, too low for Fenris to hear as he moved farther and farther away to join Isabela and Hawke. Fenris continued to follow behind, his mind occupied by the horrifying revelation that the mage knew about the dream. Now he knew that Fenris had no control over himself or the rage that lived within him. Fenris knew that Anders could not control the demon within him, but now Anders knew that Fenris lacked discipline as well. He was just what Anders claimed: a vicious dog only pretending to be a man.  


Fenris occasionally stole glances of the mage during their trek up Sundermount. When they weren't engaged in skirmishes with bandits and other unsavory creatures, Fenris noted that Anders did not behave unusually. He was as irritating as ever, swapping stories of sexual escapades with Isabela and acting as if their venture into the mountains was a light stroll. He would do well in Tevinter, Fenris thought bitterly. The mage was covered in the blood of his foes and smiling all the while, a magister in the making. As the sun set over the mountain the group set up camp for the night and cleaned themselves in a nearby stream. Fenris avoided the mage as much as the mage avoided him, and Isabela tried to subtly peek at them all while Hawke jokingly attempted to protect her modesty  


“Only Merrill gets the full show, Isabela!”  


“Oh, kitten won't mind, Hawke, and I have to make sure you're good enough for her!”  


The mage carelessly hummed a song, later, as they sat around the campfire. He dried his damp hair as Hawke attempted to prepare a meal. The mage was completely off-tune and had no semblance of rhythm whatsoever. Fenris was well aware of these mistakes. Danarius curbed such errors with a harsh and precise wave of his hand. Fenris did not hum out of tune. He did not hum at all. Fenris envied Anders's freedom in that. He could hum, sing, play an instrument terribly and was only greeted with exasperated groans and an occasional “For the love of the Maker, Anders, stop!” Fenris could not so much as tap his foot without his markings throbbing in pain to discourage the action. Even away from Danarius the memory of magic coursing through his body lingered. It was a little thing to be petty of, that Anders could be a musical failure when Fenris's right to music was based on his master's whims, but the small things mattered. They mattered a great deal to Fenris.  


“Don't be so sour faced, Fenris. It's not that awful!” Hawke protested as she stirred a dark liquid mixture in the cast iron pot. It may have once been a rabbit stew, but now Fenris could only describe it as sludge. It hit the bottom of his wooden mug with a plop, and Fenris inwardly grimaced. Hawke was a noble-hearted woman and a sharp-tongued rogue, but she could not cook.  


“It is worse than awful.” Fenris replied under his breath. Hawke huffed in pretend indignation and made a great show of being offended. Isabela smirked, but the mage- the mage giggled. As if he were amused. Probably by Fenris's suffering, it was the only thing that would amuse the man. No doubt some twisted version of Justice that his demon espoused constantly. Fenris shoved the mixture into his mouth and swallowed quickly. It wasn't so bad if you ignored the burnt, bitter taste that lingered on his tongue. Fenris had had worse meals, though. He always had worse.  


“You know, Hawke.” Anders mentioned casually as the meal ended and the fire was put out, “If you ever want something edible when we're on the road, we runaway apostate Wardens can cook a decent meal.”  


“Good to know, Anders.” Hawke responded in her regular, good natured manner, rising to her feet and leaning on her staff . “I'll take you up on that when you're not about to collapse face-first into the campfire.”  


“Good point. I'm off to get my beauty rest.” The mage stood and stretched. “Wake me up for-”  


“Don't worry, we have it covered.” Isabela said cheerfully. “Set up some traps. Plenty of warning if some bastard drops in, and we'll get plenty of sleep. Or lack of sleep.” She added, an utterly depraved lascivious look in her eyes as she looked them both up and down. Fenris resisted the urge to cross his arms and instead glared at the woman, who grinned and winked. Ugh.  


“I will keep watch, it is no trouble.” Fenris stated after Anders ducked into their tent. Their shared tent, made necessary because their group had to travel light up the mountain. Fenris would find no rest sleeping next to an abomination. But Fenris knew that his chances of getting any sleep were marginally higher with the mage, even with the added disturbance of his nightmares.  


“Fenris, you've been playing meat shield all day. If anyone here needs rest, it's you. ” Hawke insisted, and she would not let the subject rest until he agreed with her. Fenris understood Hawke's logic in a roundabout way. He was the only warrior in their group at the moment. He had the most physical strength. He needed to sleep and be at his best if they wanted to get off the Maker forsaken mountain in one piece. Perhaps, Fenris hoped, there would be no more dreams. Perhaps it was a one-time occurrence spurred by bad drink. The wine in his cellar was well stored, but there was always the chance he stumbled across a bad batch. Now reassured by the idea that his nightmare was a one-off experience, Fenris entered the tent, gave the abomination a courtesy nod of acknowledgement, and prepared his bedroll so he could sleep for the night.

 

Once again Fenris found himself holding the choking chain and collar as Anders squirmed upon the cold tile floor of Danarius's mansion in Tevinter, utterly powerless. He gasped for breath, his gold-brown eyes wide in fear with the realization that he could not cast his magic or summon his demon, and Fenris couldn't deny his satisfaction. The mage was taken care of. He would no longer pose a threat to anyone. The mage spat up red on the light colored stone and Fenris started in shock. Blood. The mage was coughing up blood. Just like the blood he and his kind always spilled for power. It never changed, no matter who is was. Mages did anything for power. Fenris tightened his grip around the chain when another hand joined his own and Danarius was again whispering in his ears.  


“Oh yes, Fenris, you know not to kneel to another mage.” Danarius murmured, his breath hot against his ear. “Such a clever boy. You know who your master truly is. You will always be mine, won't you?” Danarius's hands ran up and down Fenris's sides in a manner that could only be described as possessive.  


“Always be mine, always.” Danarius crooned as his hands roamed lower, latching onto his hips and pulling him closer. Fenris was unable to run. He wanted to scream, was desperate to scream, but his throat was shut in panic and he could not. “Everything that you are, I have made. I crafted you, every inch of you. Did I not, Little Wolf? Fenris?” Fenris let the chain go, but the mage did not move as Danarius held Fenris against him. The mage on the ground was gasping for air as he writhed on the ground, and he was mouthing something over and over, but Fenris could not hear it over the roar of blood and terror in his head.  


“Fenris? Are you listening, Fenris?” It was Danarius's mouth moving, but not Danarius's voice, not his words. “Fenris, for the Maker's sake, wake up!”  


“Fenris? Fenris!” Fenris's eyes flew open and met the wide-eyed, golden gaze of the mage, who was no longer prostate on marble tile. No collar was tightened around his throat and he was dressed in his ratty shirt and leathers. No longer dreaming, Fenris realized slowly as he became aware of the rocky ground he lay on and the sounds of the nighttime woods outside their shared woolen tent. He took a deep breath and rolled away from the mage. It felt as if he had run along the Wounded Coast for hours without stopping. It was a dream. A nightmare. The mage was not chained, Danarius was not there. He was safe. They were all safe.  


“Fenris, look at me.” The mage, Anders, murmured from across the tent. Fenris reluctantly turned his head, focusing his gaze on the mage's chin. He could not look at him in the eyes. He had seen those eyes in his dreams, and they were faded and broken because of him. He could not look. “Fenris, take deep breaths. Focus on my breathing.” Fenris watched as the mage gestured for him to breath in and out as he spoke.  


“Just breathe, yes, that's right, slowly Fenris. We are on Sundermount with Hawke. It's safe here. No one is chasing you. You're safe.” The mage was babbling nonsense. Fenris knew this. But something in his voice comforted him. He was safe. Danarius wasn't here, but far off in Tevinter. He was safe. Fenris's heart slowed, and his breathing steadied out. The mage, Anders, seemed to be satisfied by this. He crawled back into his bedroll next to where Fenris lay.  


“You were flailing about like a dying nug.” Anders remarked, yawning loudly as he curled up under his blanket. Then it was silent. Fenris truly believed that that would be the end of their strange, embarrassing moment of cooperation until Anders rolled over and smiled at him in a way that others would call charming but Fenris found troubling.  


“If you're having trouble sleeping, Fenris, I can make a potion that would-”  


“Keep your magic to yourself, mage.” Fenris muttered, curling up on his side and hoping that this time the nightmares would stay away without the intervention of the abomination.  


“Andraste's tits, I'm trying to help you!” The mage complained, but Fenris ignored him. When did a human ever willingly help an elf? Fenris knew better. He shut his eyes tightly and prepared himself for another restless night.


	2. Chapter 2

“I don't know, Fenris.” Merrill said in her lilting accent, each word an uncertain coo as they walked through Lowtown's market several days after Fenris's eventful night on Sundermount.  


“Sleep spells are common, but mages entering dreams?” Merrill frowned, obviously puzzling out Fenris's vague questions on night terrors out loud. “It's rare, Fenris. Only a dreamer like Feynriel could accomplish it, and you know how unique he is. Perhaps it's an Elvhen trait? That would be exciting, wouldn't it? You could learn more about our people if you're conscious in the Fade- but you can't control it, can you? No, no, that wouldn't work... maybe Anders would know something? He does have all the training with books and such, though I wouldn't consult him on Elvhen matters at all.”  


The mage again. Fenris shook his head dismissively and carefully stepped around a broken bottle as Merrill fussed over the wilting vegetables in a seller's cart. He had been vague, purposefully so, as he told her of his troubles sleeping. Fenris was not graphic. He told the blood mage that he found his dreams disturbing and wished for a restful night without them. But if the solution to his sleepless nights required the aide of a somniari, or worse, the mage, he would rather stay awake.  


“No. Your assistance in the matter is sufficient, Merrill.” He could not deny that the Dalish mage's help had been, well, helpful. “Thank you.” He added belatedly, and Merrill's eyes widened in surprised pleasure.  


“Oh, no, Fenris! Thank you for accompanying me while I do the shopping! I get lost here, with so many tunnels and streets!” Merrill chirped happily. “I'm so happy you are helping your people! Perhaps you can visit the Alienage sometime and teach some of the elves fighting techniques? We've been having problems with bandits and spiders, and the Guard helps when they can, but we could use-”  


“Hawke had business with the Viscount. She requested that I escort you back to the Alienage.” Fenris interrupted her. He was too weary to be harsh with the woman, though he would normally respond that neither the Dalish nor the elves of the Alienage were his people, and that he would not inflict his training upon anyone. But he was too tired, both from Merrill's prattling and the dreams that kept him from sleep every night.  


Recently, the chain in the dreams had been replaced by a whip that he clutched in his gauntleted hands as he teared the fragile, unmarked skin of the mage's back with every blow he rained down. The whip flayed it open with each harsh crack of leather on pale skin. Blood ran down his back and pooled on the ground in puddles. Flesh and corded muscle gave way until Fenris glimpsed the white flash of bone underneath it all. It was a punishment reserved for extremely rebellious slaves- those who disrespected a mage, those who plotted escape, those who defied their masters. It was a punishment that Fenris would face should Danarius choose not to keep him for himself. To be whipped with hide until death took them was not a pleasant way to depart from life.  


Fenris's arm did not tire as he brought the whip down repeatedly on the mage's back. The mage cried out in agony at first, but he went silent as the beating continued. He wanted to stop. There was too much blood. Fenris was desperate to stop, but he could not, even when he was administering leather to bone and he was standing in a growing flood of the mage's blood. He could not stop and all he could here were many voices that urged him to give in to his rage. Sometimes it was Hadriana, sometimes Danarius. Oftentimes it was a murmur he could not identify. But the voices said the same things. Hadn't he earned it? Should he forget what was done to him? He bled too, it was time for them to bleed like they made him bleed. His anger made him strong. Rage made him powerful, and rage could give him what he wanted- revenge.  


There was a time when Fenris wanted vengeance, but more and more he wanted to leave that life behind him. He was tired of running, tired of snapping and tearing into everything that might pose a threat. He was so weary of attacking. It wasn't what he wanted any more. The mage was a fool, a potential danger, but he had done nothing to Fenris other than be an irritant. So why did he appear in his dreams? Why did Fenris attack him? He wanted it to be over, he was done with this aimlessness, this hatred! He was done.  


“... and Isabela and I were looking at hats, and there was a lovely Orlesian one with feathers and bright flowers, but it was too big on me, so I looked rather silly. I do wish I could have looked better in it, so I could look beautiful. Hawke is very beautiful, don't you think so, Fenris?” Merrill was babbling about something, but the mention of his name pulled Fenris out of his darker thoughts as he scrambled to figure out what she was saying.  


“I... suppose.” Fenris replied, feeling that his response was a safe one in this situation. Merrill beamed up at him, and Fenris wondered just what he had agreed too. The superiority of the Dalish? The necessity of elves associating with elves? Respecting heritage? Summoning demons?  


“And so very clever!” Merrill heaved a heavy sigh as she picked up a large clay pot at a stall, inquired about the price, and set it down again. Three silvers were beyond her price range. “I wish I were a little more clever, or prettier- what do you think, Fenris?”  


“Excuse me?” He didn't know what Merrill was asking, or why she was asking him. He took her arm at the elbow and dragged her out of the way of a patrol of guardsmen. Looking after Merrill was a bit troublesome. She was completely unaware of social norms within cities, such as not standing in the middle of a street.  


“Hawke is so lovely and clever, I'm not a good match, am I? I must cause her so much hardship.” She seemed so disheartened that Fenris felt sorry for her, feelings that he didn't normally reserve for the small blood mage. But he understood the feeling of inadequacy well enough himself.  


“She would not say so.” Fenris said roughly. “Hawke cares for who she cares for. We should consider ourselves lucky.” None of them truly deserved a friend like Hawke. Well, perhaps Aveline, Fenris amended. The rest of them were simply fortunate that Hawke was so willing to extend her friendship and love to so many people.  


Fenris shrugged off Merrill's tear-filled smile and murmured thank you with a muttered “Don't mention it.” He was unaccustomed to receiving kindness, and even less acquainted with giving comfort to others. So when Merrill invited him to her home and offered him a glass of water, he awkwardly refused. Fenris hadn't expected guilt to sit heavy in his stomach as Merrill's expression fell.  


“I must meet with Varric over a matter.” He stated, surprising himself with his desire to provide an explanation. “Perhaps another time.”  


“Oh, you're always welcome here, Fenris. We elves have to look out for one another!” Merrill chirped, disturbing Fenris with her easiness at accepting him as one of her kind. Fenris was not one of the Dalish, or an elf of the Alienage. He was something else, some cobbled together monstrosity of elf and madness. He shuffled away from Merrill's doorstep to make his farewell.  


“Hawke instructed me to inform you that she will visit you later in the evening. She also-” Fenris's cheeks heated up as he recalled the precise message Hawke requested he relay to her lover, mischief and wistfulness dueling for dominance in her bright eyes as she whispered into his ear.  


“Hawke said that she misses you and cannot wait to see you tonight.” Fenris said quickly. “Her message was of a rather... personal nature.”  


“Oh! Oh, I- I see.” Merrill's cheeks flushed a healthy pink, visible even in the dim light of the Alienage, realizing exactly what he meant by a personal message. “Thank you, Fenris. Dareth shiral, lethallin.”  


“Goodbye.” Fenris stated before quickly exiting the Alienage. He did not linger long there. The desperate faces of the poor and downtrodden there were too familiar to the ones he remembered in Tevinter. Nothing changed, even in the south.

 >

The Hanged Man smelled like vomit, piss, and the unwashed masses. Once Fenris asked the dwarf why he chose to live in such a disgusting environment. The mage piped up that Fenris was hardly a model of cleanliness himself, what with the bodies lounging about in his foyer. Fenris replied that the mage chose lived in the sewers with the rats, and Aveline had to bang her fist on the table to bring the group back to order. Fenris gingerly sat on the wooden bench next to Varric, and his eyes traced the old table until he located the scar that Aveline's gauntlet left in the wood.  


“Well, if it isn't the broody elf! What's the problem? Anything I can help with?” Varric asked in his regular jovial, teasing manner. “Heard you went camping with Hawke recently. Didn't kill Blondie?”  


“The mage is still alive.” Fenris answered, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the nickname “Blondie.” He thought of the name Blondie and his mind transported him to the marble hall of Danarius's estate in Minrathous, where the red-gold strands of the mage's hair spread out on the tile, damp with sweat and stained with blood. Fenris shook his head to clear the image and return to the Hanged Man. The stench of the place kept him in the present, the feel of scarred and battered wood anchored him to the place. He was in the Free Marches in Kirkwall, the City of Chains, at the Hanged Man with Varric, a very odd dwarf. Not Tevinter. Not Minrathous. Not the estate.  


“I'm sure you'll get your chance someday.” Varric consoled him, but there was a biting sarcasm behind each word. Fenris felt a smirk twinge at the corner of his mouth.  


“He evades death with a mastery I almost envy.” Fenris stated mildly before flagging Norah down to request a glass of wine. Varric seemed surprised by Fenris's admission, but quickly recovered and masked his true feelings with an over-exaggerated expression of shock.  


“What's this? The elf softens his feelings towards the mage? Be still my heart!” Varric exclaimed, his hand splayed across his chest. Fenris suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  


“That is not the issue, Varric.” He stated to redirect the conversation.  


“No, no, I'm enjoying the moment!” Varric chuckled. “Maybe I'll tell Anders how much you admire his survival instincts.”  


“Don't.” Fenris said hastily, biting down on the alarm rising in his chest at the dwarf's poor joke. He did not want more contact with the mage. Not now, not with his... problem. The nightmares. Until they ended he would avoid the mage as much as possible.  


“I would prefer if you said nothing to the mage at present.” Fenris amended, pretending to be considerably calmer than he actually felt. “My business has nothing to do with him.”  


“Not even 'abomination?' So you do think highly of him.” Varric said slyly, but he dropped the subject. Fenris ignored the dwarf and sipped the wine that Norah gave him. It was watery and bitter, but if he wanted something that tasted good he would have scoured his cellar. He wanted to get drunk.  


“So, Fenris...” Varric drawled after the silence between them grew too large to be comfortable. “What did you need? Always happy to see a friend, of course, but you aren't exactly the chatty type.”  


“I require a potion maker.” Fenris said quietly. He had mused over the mage's suggestion on Sundermount. A sleep potion that would send Fenris so deep into unconsciousness that his nightmares could not trouble him grew more appealing as his nightmares increased. Since the night before Sundermount he had not had one night of uninterrupted rest.  


“A... potion maker?” Varric asked. “I heard you correctly?”  


“Yes. I require a potion maker.” Fenris restated firmly.  


“Fenris, you know plenty of potion makers. Lady Elegant, for example, or the Tranquil in the Gallows-”  


“No.” Lady Elegant dealt in many things, but her speciality was poison. Fenris would not risk his neck for one of her overpriced brews. As for the Tranquil... while Fenris could rest easy knowing that he would get what he paid for, the glassy eyed gaze and monotone drawl of Tranquil mages unnerved him. They were too much like broken slaves, too much like what he once was. No, Fenris would not go to the Gallows unless it were his only choice.  


“Elf, whatever you do, don't ask Daisy for a potion. She means well, but she might get distracted and then whatever you get might put your insides on your outsides.” Varric mused.  


“I have no desire to ask Merrill to brew anything.” Fenris replied. Fenris did not doubt that the blood mage had the purest of intentions. Her actions were not those of a malicious being. But a lack of malice did not mean a lack of danger.  


“It'd be easier to recommend someone if I knew what you wanted.” Varric said. It was an innocent enough statement, but Fenris caught the gleam in Varric's eye. It was the gaze of a master sleuth and busybody- Varric would collect the information, absorb it, and incorporate it into any of his sordid tales. Fenris could not think why a story about buying a sleeping draught would make interesting reading material, he did not doubt Varric's mastery of writing. He would find a way to incorporate it into one of his stories.  


Fenris was a reserved person. He had been for as long as he could remember. Fenris refused to hand over his privacy like coppers in a game of Wicked Grace. He leveled one of his severest glares at Varric, who chuckled into his ale.  


“Fine, fine. I'll do my best without it.” Varric turned thoughtful, eyes fixated on some point of the ceiling. “I wouldn't normally suggest this, but what about Anders? He's a healer, won't pry. He won't even tell me what Isabela goes to him for, and Rivaini doesn't give a nug's ass about who knows her business.”  


“Perhaps because it is obvious.” Fenris muttered. If Isabela was involved it was of a sexual nature.  


“Ouch.” Varric whistled lowly. “Ignoring that, Anders really is your best bet. He charges half the rate of anyone else, he knows his business, and he's discreet.”  


“Discreet?” Fenris asked skeptically. Out of all the words to describe the mage, discreet was the antithesis of all he was. The mage could not manage discretion, though he had every reason to be circumspect.  


“Maybe it's Justice. Maybe it's the Grey Warden part of him. But if it has to do with his healing, he keeps his mouth shut. What happens in his clinic stays in his clinic.” Varric said, his tone surprisingly serious. “Give him a chance, Fenris. He'll help you.”  


“I will consider it.” Fenris murmured. He did not want to, but Varric's solemn attitude was so rare that Fenris knew to step carefully. “Leave me with it for a while.”  


“If you say so. But he'll help, no questions asked. Trust me.” Varric turned his charming grin on him and pulled a pack of cards out of his pocket. “Now, you did something very interesting last week during Wicked Grace and I'd like you to replicate it for me.”

 

Fenris left the Hanged Man later that evening with a few extra sovereigns weighing down his pocket and lightening his spirits. Varric was a busybody and entirely too interested in figuring out the stories of others, but Fenris enjoyed playing cards with him. He also enjoyed winning, and if Varric was suitably distracted it was easy to win a round. Slightly tipsy and feeling better than he had in days, Fenris stumbled into his bed and pulled his nest of blankets over himself. Tonight he would sleep. Sleep without dreams. He felt relaxed, and happy, and he could finally, finally sleep...  


When he opened his eyes again it was dark. He was in a damp room. Alone. Fenris groped his way over damp stone and slippery moss and tried to calm his panicked heartbeats. Where was he? What happened?  


“This isn't real.” Fenris muttered. It was a dream. He was dreaming. It wasn't real. He breathed deeply and tried to calm down. It was only another nightmare, and he had lived through enough of those recently.  


A door flung open and flooded the cell with light, and Fenris knew where he was. Danarius's estate. Two people, made indistinct by the bright light that made Fenris's eyes water, entered the cell and dragged him out. Out into the hall. They were in the underground tunnels, and only one person ever found a use for the sprawling network underneath Danarius's Minrathous estate.  


Hadriana.  


He struggled, but he felt weak. So weak that his thrashing and kicks were as ineffective as a newborn's first motions of life. They pulled him along, and he stumbled, tripped, was yanked back up and pushed into another room. A room with Hadriana.  


Hadriana, who was dead.  


Fenris killed her. He knew he had. He held her heart in his hand, watched the cold light in her eyes stutter and go dull. Her blood dripped down his forearm and she was dead in the holding pens of Kirkwall. Why was she here? Why now? He didn't want her here!  


“Hello, slave.” Hadriana sneered, magic sparking at her fingertips. Fenris winced and pressed his back to the wall. He knew what her magic could do, and he was afraid, the fear carved deep in his sinew and bone alongside the lyrium.  


“I have something for you, slave.” She said, and stepped aside to reveal what lay behind her and her elaborate robes. Fenris knew who it was before Hadriana and completely stepped away. Golden-red hair, pale skin, long, unbroken nose... long, lean, muscled... the mage again. Another nightmare, Fenris assured himself. It meant nothing.  


It meant everything.  


He panicked and tried to leave the room, but he couldn't. His legs wouldn't work as he wanted them to. Instead of leaving the cell he walked towards the mage, towards Hadriana, and wasn't he supposed to go away from her? But each step brought him closer.  


“So you can obey, when you're not being a stubborn cow.” She sneered, circling him. Something cruel and wicked glittered in her cold blue eyes, and Fenris was afraid. “You see, slave, I am terribly bored.” Her fingers danced across his back, a back now curiously bare of clothes and armor. Her nails scratched his skin and he felt the blood welling up from the scratches. She brought her hand up in front of her and smeared the blood around on her palm.  


“And because I am so bored, slave, and your duty is to amuse me, I am giving you permission to enjoy one of my toys.” Her dark lips twisted into a wide smile, like a dagger's blade slashed across her face. “Be grateful, slave. I know how you look at him. You desire him so.” She laughed then, a cruel laugh.  


“Imagine, a human mage, willingly laying with dirty elven slave. But this one,” She aimed a kick at the mage's side, and he yelped in pain. “This one is weak. He's less than a slave.” Hadriana gripped Fenris's arm and dragged him forward.  


“Lay with him. Show him how weak he is.” She whispered in his ear, her nails digging into his muscled arm. “Do it, slave, for I know how much you wish to show that he is yours.” She stepped back then, and Fenris moved forwards, knelt on the ground next to the prone mage.  


“Fenris, please.” The mage whispered desperately. “We can get away, we can stop her.”  
Fenris wanted to believe the mage, but Hadriana was there, and so real, and she wasn't wrong. Here, in the lamplight, the mage was attractive. Extremely so. His eyes were beautiful, like sunlight pouring through a jar of dark honey. Fenris wanted him. He moved closer.  


“Fenris, listen to me, you don't have to obey her! She's trying to confuse you! Fenris, please stop, you're not like her, you're better than this-” Whatever the mage was trying to say was lost in the sound of blood rushing in Fenris's ears and Hadriana's high, cold laughter as he gripped the mage's hips in his hands and pushed-

When it was done, hours, days, weeks later, Fenris felt sick. Hadriana patted his head and praised his endurance and passion before she left. She took the mage, broken and bleeding, Fenris's release staining his inner thighs, with her. Fenris couldn't look. He curled up on the floor and hoped he would wake up from this nightmare.  


“It is a nightmare. This isn't real. Hadriana is dead. I didn't-” But he had. He was no better than the mages who owned him. Fenris had hoped, he had wanted, but it didn't matter any more. He shut his eyes and waited for the morning to come.  


He woke in his bed, covers tangled around his waist, his bed stained with sweat and the join of his legs sticky. Shame coursed through his body as Fenris rolled over, reached for the empty chamber-pot near his bed, and promptly threw up what little contents were in his stomach. When he was done he curled back into bed and hoped no one would visit him today.  


He was unfit for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and/or left kudos. You all are the best!


	3. Chapter 3

“Fenris? For the love of the Maker, Fenris, you better be in here!” A woman shouted from up in the foyer, and Fenris blearily lifted his head and stared up the cellar steps. He had gone down here for wine and solitude, and remained in hopes that eventually the wine would block out the nightmares.  


“Aveline, love! There's no need to shout!” It was a quieter voice, male, that spoke. He was muffled by the walls and distance.  


“Donnic, Fenris has been missing for the past three days, I will shout as much as I Maker damn please! Fenris! Get your skinny arse downstairs this instant!” The sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs reached Fenris where he was curled next to the wine casks.  


Aveline. Donnic. Fenris released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. They were friends, not visions of the dead and the suffering. Good people, who would help him even though he was more monster than man. Footsteps came closer and an armored figure stood in the doorway, illuminated by the lantern they carried in one hand.  


“Maker's Breath!” Donnic swore as he took in Fenris's appearance, shock and horror mixed on his face. Fenris realized he must look terrible, but couldn't bring himself to care. “Aveline, he's here! I need your help!” He took the stairs two steps at a time. The clang of his metal hobnail boots on stone rang in Fenris's ears and made his headache worse.  


“Hello, Donnic.” Fenris slurred out when Donnic hauled him up from behind the casks.  


“Fenris.” Donnic murmured, his face overflowing with kindness and sympathy that Fenris did not deserve. “What have you done to yourself?”  


Fenris groaned and let his head drop to Donnic's metal-clad shoulder. What hadn't he done to himself these past few days? He drank, drank until he couldn't tell which way was up or down or sideways. When sleep came for him the cold stone of the cellar reminded him of where he truly was. He had thought of locking himself in the cellar, but it was too much effort to climb up the stairs when he didn't know what up was anymore.  


“Donnic, what's- Andraste's Grace!” Aveline, strong, unyielding, determined Aveline, rushed down the steps and placed herself at Fenris's side, looping his other arm around her shoulders. “Don't worry, Fenris. We have you.”  


He wanted to tell them to stop, that it was pointless to help someone like him. He couldn't be helped. But Fenris was tired, so tired. He let Donnic and Aveline lead him up the cellar steps into the mansion.  


Fenris heard snippets of dialogue between the couple as he was escorted to the bathing chamber and stripped down to his leggings by a worried and impatient Aveline. He couldn't bring himself to participate in the conversation. He was too dizzy, tired, and drunk to even try.  


“Shit, the weight drops off him fast.” Aveline muttered, her gauntlets off as she traced Fenris's clearly visible ribs with her calloused fingertips. Fenris hated being touched on his best days, and even he was aware he was not at his best. He felt disgusting and wrong. Aveline was a friend, a good friend, and he had no right to stain her with his wretchedness. He tried to pull away from her but she was still holding him up.  


“Fenris never takes care of himself. You know it's a struggle to get him to eat.” Donnic reminded his wife as he turned the knobs of the giant tub and heated water poured into the basin, accompanied by the smell of rotten eggs. The pipes were connected to an underground hot spring. Fenris remembered having a conversation with Hawke about it. A useful invention, she said, one that she employed at her own home. She had said the hot water was worth putting up with the smell.  


“Alright, Fenris. Off with the leggings and into the tub. You're covered in dirt.” Aveline said firmly, and Fenris dutifully pulled his leggings off and gingerly stepped into the tub with help from Donnic. He hissed as the hot water made contact with his skin and the lyrium, but he settled in soon enough.  


“Donnic, go find Anders. Fenris is unwell.” Aveline ordered, truly sounding like Captain Vallen, the Captain of the Kirkwall Guard, and not Aveline at all. Donnic responded immediately, taking quick measured steps towards the door.  


“No!” Fenris croaked out. The two paused and turned to look at him. “Not the mage. Please.” He couldn't let the mage see him like this, couldn't let the mage see him, not after what he had done. It wasn't real, he knew that, but it felt real. It was real every time he fell asleep and the nightmares began.  


“Alright, Fenris. We won't get Anders.” Donnic promised, and Fenris relaxed, letting his head fall back against the edge of the tub. The mage wouldn't come here. The mage would be safe from him and the madness that was tearing him apart night after night.  


“He needs someone, Donnic. He can't be on his own right now.” Aveline said firmly, but it was clear she agreed with her husband. She had that look she got whenever she was thinking, Fenris noted. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes introspective. Her mouth was a grim straight line.  


“Varric would pry and write it all down, and Fenris doesn't need that. Hawke would move him and he's in no state to be moved. Merrill wouldn't know what to do with a drunk. The whore is impossible to track and impossible to keep pinned. She might leave him alone and then he'll poison his liver with even more alcohol. Anders is the best option, but if Fenris won't have him here we can't force him to accept it-”  


“Isn't that Chantry Brother back from his trip to Ostwick with the sisters?” Donnic piped up. “He and Fenris get on well enough.”  


“Sebastian. Yes. Donnic, please get Sebastian. Tell him Fenris is unwell and ask him to grab a few potions while he's at it. When he comes back we'll let Hawke know Fenris is safe.” Aveline stated, and Donnic quickly left. Once gone, Aveline picked up a bar of plain soap, something made from vegetable oil. It smelled like lemons. Fenris remembered the scent from Tevinter. The house slaves used it to wash their clothes. He liked the smell more than Danarius's favored scent of incense and myrrh, or Hadriana's own mix of myrrh and sandalwood, a copy of Danarius's to gain his favor.  


“Lift your right arm, Fenris.” Aveline ordered. “I've done this countless times in the past, don't think I'm trying to get a peak of your bits.”  


“That would be Isabela.” Fenris weakly joked as Aveline scrubbed his arm. His markings ached from the pain of being touched, but he rejoiced because it was real. Aveline's rough scrubbing, the hot water, the scent of lemon- it was all real and all good. He wasn't worthy of that kind of care, but he was too weak to refuse it now.  


“Fenris, we've been worried sick about you. You stubborn, nug-headed elf.” Aveline moved to his back, scrubbing in little circles as she scolded him. “Hawke's convinced you've been kidnapped, and Merrill's absolutely frantic with worry.”  


“Merrill?” Of everyone in their band of misfits, he hadn't expected Merrill to worry over him.  


“She said you weren't sleeping well, that you asked her for help.” Aveline stated. “She was certain you were lost in the Fade and it was all her fault for not helping you. She would have gone searching if Anders hadn't intervened.” She sighed at Fenris's increasingly alarmed expression. “She didn't, you know.”  


“What... happened?” Fenris asked slowly. Aveline's scrubbing slowed as she answered.  


“Anders told her that it was impolite to wander about in the Fade and intrude someone's privacy. Then he told her that without proper training she'd get stuck and he wasn't going to let her do that to Hawke.” Aveline explained. “He, Varric, and Isabela managed to keep things calm and I let everyone know I'd check on you.” She moved on to his other arm, and Fenris sank deeper into the water and sighed in relief.  


“Thank you.” He murmured. Aveline frowned and continued to scrub, moving down towards his legs. He flinched at her touch and she quickly removed her hands from the water.  


“Sorry, Fenris. You can manage that yourself?” She asked politely, and Fenris nodded. He didn't want to be touched down there. Even with Aveline, who would never take advantage of him, Fenris couldn't allow that weakness. He took the soap in his hands, his grip weak from drinking and a lack of food and sleep, and began to scrub. He avoided the lyrium lines as best he could as he cleaned his legs.  


“Fenris, you can't keep doing this.” Aveline scolded him again as she filled a bucket with clean warm water. “It's like you're trying to destroy yourself. Close your eyes and plug your nose.” She ordered, and Fenris complied just as she dumped the clean water over his head. Over the rush of water he heard the faint sound of the front door of the mansion opening and two sets of footsteps down in the foyer. But Aveline didn't seem alarmed, and Fenris kept calm as well. It was probably Donnic and Sebastian. He hoped they wouldn't barge in. It was bad enough that Aveline was here and saw him at his weakest and most fragile state. Fenris didn't want others to witness it.  


“Your hair is a nug's nest. Worse than a nug's nest, apparently they are clean animals.” Aveline grumbled, but she left Fenris's side to look through an ornate wooden cabinet. When Fenris first arrived it was full of moth eaten towels and strange bottles with writing on them. He had replaced the towels with others from another chest in a spare bedroom, but he kept the bottles as they were. He didn't know their purpose, but Aveline clearly did. She read the paper label, twisted her mouth in a grimace, and pulled out another.  


“You don't want to smell like an Orlesian sugar cake, do you, Fenris?” She asked as she replaced that bottle and pulled out a small, green bottle, read the label, and put that one away as well.  


“No?” Fenris was confused by the question. Did Aveline find a sugar cake in the cabinet? He couldn't remember storing food in the bathroom, but he supposed anything was possible. He had been drinking for the past three days and nights, and remembered little other than his nightmares.  


“Lavender it is, then.” Aveline took one of the smaller bottles and uncorked the top, depositing a liquid into her hands that did, in fact, smell of lavender and, if Fenris searched for the scent, honey. “Keep your eyes closed, it will sting if it gets in your eyes.”  


Fenris hummed in understanding, and Aveline deposited the contents on top of his head before rubbing it into his hair with her long fingers. He winced as her fingers tangled up in his hair and pulled, and Aveline muttered an apology before continuing.  


“Fenris, tell me that's wine in your hair.” Aveline stated as soap suds ran down the sides of his face.  


“... it's not wine. Not all of it.” Fenris couldn't lie to Aveline. She sighed and her fingers quested through his matted hair, searching for the origins of the blood. She brushed against the sensitive spot on the back of his head and he hissed. “Damn, that's quite the scrape. What happened?”  


“Knocked my head on a cask.” Fenris muttered, hissing again when Aveline tugged at his hair and pressed her fingers more firmly on the spot. He omitted the fact that he had done it on purpose, in the hopes that if he knocked himself out he wouldn't be able to dream. He was wrong. “That hurts!”  


“Of course it does!” Aveline said, removing her hands to fill the bucket with more clean water. “Keep your eyes closed.” She didn't wait, dumping the hot water over his head and washing out soap and washing the mess from his head. “If you aren't going to let Anders come by to fix it, we need to bandage the damn thing.” Fenris groaned as Aveline dug back in with more soap and scrubbing at his head. “I swear, Fenris, if this happens again I will come here with Donnic and we will torch your cellar. You will not drink again if this is what you do to yourself.”  


Fenris couldn't help but agree.

When the bath was done, Fenris was wrapped up in a faded green robe (one of the previous owner's, he assumed) and led to his chair. A fire roared merrily in the fireplace, and Aveline tucked him into the cushioned seat with several thick blankets and a steaming cup of tea. Fenris didn't know how his ragged room had transformed into a comfortable hideaway, but somehow it had. Aveline wrapped up his head with a clean bandage, and Donnic quietly entered the room with Sebastian. Donnic came in with more firewood, while the Starkhaven noble was carrying a basket that Fenris assumed was filled with food. He could smell bread and some kind of roasted meat. Chicken, perhaps?  


“Fenris? Are you well?” Sebastian asked cautiously. Fenris shrugged his shoulders.  


“As well as I can be.” He said politely. He was still a bit dizzy, so he didn't get up to greet the former prince who hurried to his side.  


“He was drinking.” Aveline explained as Sebastian fussed over Fenris's bandage. “He needs someone to keep an eye on him.”  


“Of course, Aveline. Donnic explained it to me as we got the fire going.” Sebastian agreed. “I can stay the night, if Fenris is willing to have me here.” Sebastian glanced up at Fenris, his bright blue eyes calm and understanding. He tried to give Sebastian a brief, welcoming smile, but it came out as a grimace. Instead he gave his friend a short nod of acknowledgement.  


“It will be good to have someone around.” Fenris stated. “You may stay, Sebastian.” Sebastian smiled and took a seat across from Fenris's own. Aveline and Donnic said their goodbyes and left to continue their patrol and let Hawke know Fenris was safe. Sebastian set the food out on the table and silently offered a hunk of bread to Fenris. It was the first food that Fenris had eaten since he went in the cellar, and it sat heavy and warm in his stomach. He murmured a quick thank you to Sebastian and returned to eating, his eyelids heavy and body warm.

Another night in the hold, Fenris realized as he opened his eyes again. He was tired, too tired, and had fallen asleep and stumbled into his nightmares again. Hadriana was back, the mage as well, and Anders was tied up on a wooden rack, back exposed. Naked, save for the collar around his neck. Bile rose in Fenris's throat, and he tried to edge away, tried to leave this place before he could do more harm to a man who had never hurt him.  


Hadriana spotted him first.  


. 

“Oh, Fenris. Back again?” She purred, blue eyes hooded and her voice dripping with malice. Her use of his name frightened him more than when she said slave. Her use of his name meant she had something terrible planned. “Will you have your way with him? Your last performance was quite inspiring. I was quite impressed, just as Magister Danarius was.”  


Inspiring? Fenris winced as Hadriana's long-fingered hands scraped over his cheek, as thin and cold as bone. His skin crawled as she looked him over, as she looked him over so many times before in Danarius's estate. How many times had she done this to him before he was left behind on Seheron? So many it was hard to remember.  
Fenris's time alone with Hadriana was always painful and humiliating, and served a single purpose: to drive him closer to Danarius. If he was a good slave, an obedient slave, then Master Danarius kept him from Hadriana. Fenris eagerly basked in the attention, the softer touches, the protection that Danarius gave from Hadriana. Her actions encouraged him to run from her and to Danarius, to curl up at his feet for safety and comfort.  


So what was this, now? Was his mind twisting up patchwork memories and feelings into a horrendous nightmare? Was it magic, some twisted revenge spell tormenting him? And why the mage? Why Anders? Fenris felt sick as Hadriana moved towards the mage and ran her nails down his back. Lines of blood welled up in the trenches she dug into his flesh. Part of Fenris was satisfied, for now the mage, this mage, the dream Anders, understood that Tevinter was no paradise. The rest of Fenris was sickened, because he knew what would come next now. The beatings. The torture. Rape. And it would be done by his hand and under Hadriana's watchful eye.  


“I killed you.” Fenris croaked out. Hadriana glanced up, an amused expression on her mouth and coldness in her eyes.  


“So you think.” She replied, stepping away from the rack to pull a rawhide whip off the wall  


“I can do so again.” Fenris stated, but his voice wavered as he stepped forward, towards the rack, Hadriana, and the mage. He was so weak.  


“You won't.” Hadriana grinned, showing too much teeth and taking great pleasure in the situation as she handed him the whip to turn it on the mage. The cycle began again, the mage screaming and begging for Fenris to stop, that he wasn't a cruel man, that Fenris was better than this, mercy, Fenris, please!  


Anders's faith in him broke Fenris's heart. His eyes filled with tears as he continued because he was a monster, and never could be otherwise. He was made to be nothing more than an animal.  


“I'm sorry. So sorry. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry-” He murmured, but he couldn't be heard over Anders's broken sobs and Hadriana's low, cold laugh. “Anders I am so sorry.”  


“Fenris? Fenris, it's a nightmare. It's time to wake up!” Someone whispered in his ear. A ghostly hand was on his shoulder and suddenly he was yanked out, out and away from the nightmare and headlong into the real world.

. 

“Fenris? Are you awake?” A male voice, gentle, thick Starkhaven brogue. Sebastian. Fenris took a deep breath and opened his eyes.  


“Thank the Maker!” Sebastian murmured, brushing his hand over Fenris's forehead. “Fever dream? Do you need anything? Glass of water, perhaps tea?”  


Fenris couldn't answer. He was relieved that it was over,, but too horrified by what he had done to speak. What if this were only another part of his nightmare? What if he was still asleep, and Sebastian was only a figment of his imagination? He felt warm fabric under his fingertips, and the heat of the fire on his back. Sebastian's blue eyes glittered in the firelight, but they were warm, not cold like Hadriana. He breathed in again, then out. This felt real, but the mage's skin under his hands, the way he tensed as he entered him, those sensations felt real too.  


“It was only a dream.” Fenris muttered to himself, still shaken. Sebastian looked terribly concerned, and Fenris sat up in the middle of his tangle of blankets. “I would... I would like some tea, Sebastian. Please.”  


“Of course.” Sebastian smiled and patted Fenris's shoulder before hoisting himself up to fiddle around with a copper tea kettle- did Sebastian bring that from the Chantry? Fenris was certain he didn't own one. He pulled a box out of the food basket and an earthenware mug, and though Fenris tried to watch Sebastian fixing the tea, the man's body blocked his view. Fenris rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, pulling back when he felt something wet. Water.  


“Was I crying?” Fenris muttered to himself, but Sebastian heard. He walked back to the bed and sat down on the mattress next to Fenris.  


“I assumed you were having a bad dream.” Sebastian said calmly, handing Fenris the mug of steaming water. “Don't drink yet, it hasn't steeped long enough.” He warned. 

Fenris tightly clutched the heated mug in hands, relief and embarrassment warring in his heart. He was certain he was awake now, Sebastian's non-judgmental statement confirming what his own senses couldn't. Only Sebastian could hold his curiosity back and not pry for information. But now there was another problem. Sebastian saw what Fenris tried to hide, and it was worse, far worse than when the mage saw it. He drew his knees to his chest and looked down at his feet, refusing to meet Sebastian's steady gaze.  


“Donnic did not tell me much, only that you were drunk and have been unwell these past few days.” Sebastian stated calmly. “Your markings must be acting up again. I know they bother you.”  


“No more than usual.” Fenris replied. It was true enough.  


“That was not a no.” Sebastian said, looking at Fenris with his piercing gaze, as if he thought that if he looked hard enough he could uncover Fenris's secrets and the reason behind his nightmares.  


“I have had trouble sleeping, Sebastian. That is all.” Fenris said firmly. Sebastian frowned and shook his head, clearly not believing Fenris's explanation. Fenris was fine with that, so long as Sebastian didn't pry.  


“I am here if you need someone to speak to, Fenris.” Sebastian offered, his voice gentle. “You should drink your tea now, it's steeped long enough.”  


“Thank you, Sebastian.” Fenris answered, sipping the tea. It was hot and sweet. Sebastian must have mixed some honey into the tea to mask the bitterness of the brew. Fenris drank deeply, the tea soothing his throat and nerves more than he expected. The room descended into silence and Fenris wondered what to do. Sebastian was a Chantry brother, or at least was training to be one. He would listen to Fenris's problems and not tell a soul, but letting him know what he dreamed? What he did in those dreams? Fenris could not do that. He couldn't let him, let anyone, know how disgustingly wrong he was.  


“Sebastian....” Fenris murmured hesitantly.  


“Yes, Fenris?” Sebastian prompted when Fenris returned to silence. He could tell him, tell him everything: the dreams of the mage, of the torture and evil he inflicted on the man every night in his dreams, and Sebastian would listen. Fenris could tell him, and he'd no longer be alone in carrying the burden. Sebastian would help him somehow, Fenris knew he would.  


“Tell me about your trip.” Fenris said instead.  


“Certainly, Fenris.” Sebastian spoke, his voice low and melodic as he old Fenris of his trip to Ostwick, of the trip over road and mountain, of Ostwick and its strange tradition of racing cheese rounds down hills... Fenris listened to Sebastian's tales and remained silent. He was not just a monster, Fenris thought sadly as Sebastian told him of one of the Ostwick Chantry mothers and her pet nug. He was a coward as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to everyone who took the time to read, leave kudos, comment, and/or bookmark this story! I really appreciate it!
> 
> If any of you have any questions on the fic and it's progress, feel free to message me at my tumblr, which you can find [here](http://contreparry.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

Sebastian left in the morning to go back to the Chantry. Fenris was well enough to walk him to the door and say goodbye, and the two stood in the mansion's doorway in the morning sunlight.  


“My door is always open if you need anything.” Sebastian said firmly. “Do not hesitate to call on me for assistance.”  


“I do not wish to burden you.” Fenris replied quietly as he shifted from one foot to the other.  


“It's no burden to care for a friend, Fenris.” Sebastian stated, gazing at Fenris intensely, as if he could unravel Fenris's secrets through sight alone. All Fenris could do was thank Sebastian, who, after another long, searching look, left for the Chantry. Fenris re-entered his home to eat breakfast. Sebastian's visit had given him a little more energy, and he felt better than he had yesterday. He was tired and sore, but he knew he could get through the day without too much hardship. 

After breakfast he received a messenger from Hawke. Fenris recognized the winded boy as an elf from the Alienage. Hawke must have stayed with Merrill last night. The messenger quickly relayed his news, all the while casting uneasy glances at the looming mansion behind Fenris. He stated that Hawke was making a day trip to the Wounded Coast to take care of some slavers, and she wanted Fenris to come along. Fenris thanked the boy for running the message and dropped three silvers into his grubby palm.  


“Thank you kindly, ser!” The boy stuttered out before turning tail and running. Fenris wondered what tale the lad would tell his friends. Not only had he spoken with the mysterious elf who lived in the haunted Hightown mansion, but the man paid him three silvers! No one would believe the boy, Fenris concluded.  


Merrill scolded Fenris often enough for not caring for his people. As she had pointed out countless times before, he did not visit the Alienage, or attend elvhen ceremonies. But Fenris made sure that Hawke's messengers, usually elvhen children eager to for money in exchange for a small service, were well paid when he saw them. He had no high aspirations of restoring past glory- he had seen where that path ended in Tevinter. No, Fenris mused as he shut the front door and headed further into the cool mansion. Fenris preferred to survive and build a future, as ragged and worn as it was. He had enough troubles remembering his own past, why add on the histories of an entire race to his memory gap? He shook his head from his musings and recalled Hawke's message and request phrased as a demand.  


Fenris was tired, but willing to go to the Wounded Coast to join a hunting party. He could take out his frustrations with his nightmares by destroying some slavers. And, if he was lucky, perhaps the exhaustion of battling on the coast would help him fall into a dreamless sleep. He took his sword and tucked some potions and grenades into the pouches around his waist before leaving his home to meet Hawke and her party.

 

“No.” Fenris hissed at Hawke when he arrived to their meeting place and saw the members of her group. Isabela, Hawke, and the mage. Anders. “I refuse.”  


“Look, Fenris, Anders needs to be here today.” Hawke said firmly. “I need a warrior for this job, and Aveline told me you could use some cheering up so I'm bringing you along. The Wounded Coast is bad on the best of days. Anders has to be here with us.”  


Off to the side the mage was arguing with Isabela, something about The Pearl and electricity and how his current responsibilities to his patients would not permit him to indulge in a tumble between the sheets, especially not with her. Isabela made a great show of pouting and being upset, but it was clear that neither the offer or the disappointed reaction were truly serious. The past was the past, and Isabela was only playing pretend. She may have had the mage years ago in a Ferelden brothel when he was wilder, but she hadn't had him as he was now. But Fenris had. At least, in his nightmares, he knew what the mage could be. Pliant, unresisting, gold-red hair spread across the surface of a wooden table or a cool stone floor...  


“Keep him away from me, you understand?” Fenris muttered for Hawke's ears alone.  


“I can't make promises, Fenris, but we should all be busy killing slavers. It's not like he can corner you and have his wicked way, right?” Hawke whispered back before turning to her other companions. “Alright, now that Fenris is here, we're moving out!”  


Fenris did not tell Hawke that he no longer feared what the mage could do to him. Rather, he feared what he would do to Anders should they be alone. Fenris couldn't trust himself to not lash out at the man. He showed no restraint when asleep, how easy would it be to take and tear apart and hurt the mage when he was awake? Fenris made sure to keep his distance as Hawke engaged Anders in conversation at the front of their group. He was so fixated on paying attention to where the mage was in order to avoid him that he did not notice Isabela sidling up to him at the rear of their party.  


“So... Fenris...” She drawled out near his ear when she was close enough to speak. “I hear Sebastian visited you last night. Did you manage to get him on his knees so he could pray to his Maker? Is he quiet when he worships or... vocal?”  


“Sebastian is a friend, Isabela.” Fenris said firmly. “And furthermore, he is chaste.” Sebastian had helped him last night, and Fenris refused to associate sexual thoughts with his friend. Nothing happened, and Fenris would not stain those memories with sex. 

Instead, Sebastian had listened and comforted Fenris by staying awake through the night and telling him stories. When he ran out of stories about his trip to Ostwick, Sebastian shared stories of his childhood, of happier times with his grandfather, and they talked until the sun rose and Fenris felt the danger of sleep had passed him by.  
There was little that Fenris remembered of his own past before the markings were carved into him- a peal of childish laughter, the scent of lemons and the salty spray of the ocean, a woman's voice murmuring nonsense words- but listening to Sebastian's memories was a comfort to Fenris. He didn't have his own, but he could share in the memories of his companions. His friends. It was better than nothing.  


“Besides that, I don't believe Sebastian is interested in men, even when he was...sexually active.” Fenris added as Isabela's smirk grew wider with Fenris's silence.  


“I don't know about that. I've heard quite a few things about our prince-turned-priest. Things that would make your toes curl.” Isabela murmured, pressing her ample chest against Fenris's arm as they walked down the sandy sea shore.  


“I would rather not know.” He stated, pulling his arm away from her touch. If it were anyone else, Fenris would be angered by their casual touches and sexual innuendo, but this was Isabela. And Isabela was Isabela- incorrigible but understanding. She would push, but she knew when to stop. Usually.  


“Did he keep you up all night, praising the Maker?” She laughed loudly when Fenris grimaced at her words. It wasn't that the Starkhaven prince was unattractive, quite the opposite. But Fenris felt no desire for Sebastian, not like- he forced his gaze downwards. The mage looked as tired and haggard as ever, but even then he was as desirable as he was in those nightmares... more, even. Fenris avoided looking at him, just in case his lack of control extended to the waking world.  


“We talked about his trip to Ostwick.” Fenris replied evenly. “There was no prayer involved.”  


“Hmmmm, more's the pity.” Isabela drawled. “I wonder about his stamina, that's all. The priesthood is such a thankless calling, he must have a lot of endurance. And he was with you all night.” Isabela waggled her eyebrows, which drew a reluctant, small smile from Fenris. “So what really happened?”  


“I was drunk. Sebastian kept me company.” Fenris said bluntly. He was so focused on Isabela's disappointed groan that he failed to notice the mage's irritated frown. “Nothing untoward occurred.”  


“So nothing happened? At all?” Isabela pouted.  


“No.”  


“Not even a little bit of frisking?” She asked.  


“Not in the slightest.” Fenris confirmed.  


“No disrobing? Taking off the armor of the Chantry to slip into something more comfortable?” Isabela was practically pleading now.  


“Andraste's knickerweasels, can't you drop the subject?” Anders burst out from his position at the front of the group with Hawke. “I don't want to know what Holier-Than-Thou is packing underneath the Maker's bride's face, thank you!”  


“No imagination! For shame!” Isabela tutted and tilted her head closer to Fenris's, as if they were conspirators in some wild crime, or perhaps fishwives gossiping in the Lowtown market. “Don't worry, Fenris, we'll keep ourselves amused.”  


“Entertain yourself. I am uninterested as well.” Fenris answered, and made to leave her in order to walk with Hawke's mabari, who could not speak Common and interrogate him. Isabela gripped his arm and held him back, her small, calloused hand warm on his elbow.  


“That mannish bone crusher Aveline said you were sick, and Kitten told me you haven't slept well.” Isabela said lowly. “And frankly, if you were getting laid you wouldn't look half dead.”  


“It is nothing for you or our companions to worry over.” Fenris muttered. “Forget it.”  


“I was hoping, for your sake, that you were busy sweating out confessions with our priest, but evidently that's not true.” Isabela continued. “Then I thought, well, perhaps our prickly elf has been seeking comfort from more experienced hands. But you don't go to the Rose, or any brothel, unless you're with Hawke on a mission. And you know how those are-”  


“Isabela-” Fenris growled out a warning. The mage kept glancing at them, obviously interested in the conversation, and Fenris couldn't stand how concerned he looked. The man should go away, leave before Fenris hurt him like he always did, Maker damn the nightmares.  


“You go in expecting a good time and you end up with too many things stuck inside you. And not fun things, mind. Sharp pointy things that tear everything up and make messes, but I'm getting off topic.” Isabela shook her head, her earrings and necklaces jingling brightly. “So if it wasn't Sebastian and it wasn't a brothel that has been keeping our dear Fenris up so many nights, perhaps, I thought, he's found a sweetheart he keeps hidden somewhere, but no, Varric and I haven't heard any rumors and you know how we keep an ear out for these things.”  


“Yes. I do.” Fenris grumbled. The mage was still listening, his head half turned to better hear the conversation over the wind and distance.  


“Which leads us back to Sebastian, and you didn't sleep with him.” She finished her rambling.  


“No. I did not.” He confirmed.  


“So what are you up to that keeps you up at night?” Isabela mused.  


“It is not something for you to worry about.” Fenris said quietly. “Let it be.”  


“Who I worry about is my business, Fenris.” Isabela snapped back. “If you're sick you go to a healer! For the love of Andraste's granny-panties, even you can't hate Anders that much-”  


“Isabela, stop harassing Fenris.” Anders interrupted, whirling around to address her. “He told me to keep my magic to myself. And unlike some people,” At this the mage gave the former pirate captain one of his severest glares, his bright amber eyes flashing in the sunlight. “I know how to respect boundaries.” He turned back around and marched to the front of the group to join Hawke, leaving Isabela steaming and silent and Fenris terribly confused.

 

The trip to the Wounded Coast was mostly uneventful. There was a slaver group, but they were easily dispatched with little issue before their party returned to the city. The mage returned to his clinic, Isabela to the Hanged Man. Fenris might have gone back home, but Hawke took his arm.  


“Fenris, I wanted your advice on something.” She said vaguely, half leading, half dragging Fenris up to Hightown. “Isabela and I were having a debate about daggers a while back, and I want your opinion on the matter.”  


Fenris could not find fault in Hawke's technique as they fought on the coast, but if she insisted... he let himself be led up to Hawke's mansion, where Hawke sat him down in the parlor and pulled a seat for herself and flopped down into the thick plush cushion of her armchair.  


“This isn't about daggers and Isabela, is it?” Fenris asked after a minute of uncomfortable silence as Hawke sat and stared at him, her gaze too intense for a normal chat.  


“No. It's not.” Hawke affirmed Fenris's question, her mouth a straight line that signaled her displeasure. They were silent again, Fenris waiting for Hawke to continue and Hawke waiting for... whatever it was she was waiting for. Eventually she sighed heavily and adjusted herself to sit deeper in her seat, but remained silent as they sat and the fire  


“Is there a... problem?” Fenris eventually asked. Hawke frowned and crossed her arms.  


“Yes, Fenris, there is a problem. A big problem.” She paused, letting her words sink in. 

“Namely, it's you and your inability to take care of yourself.”  


“Excuse me?” Fenris was surprised by Hawke's words. The woman was kind, and Fenris had come to admire her intelligence and big heart, but he never quite understood her need to interfere in the lives of others. Varric once jokingly described Marian Hawke as a professional busybody, but had turned thoughtful after he uttered the phrase, which Fenris took as a sign that it would someday turn up in one of Varric's tales.  


“You know exactly what I mean!” Hawke said angrily, not catching Fenris's shocked expression as she stood from her chair and paced in front of her fireplace. Her mabari hound snorted and plodded away to find a less noisy place to rest. “You don't sleep, you hardly eat, you drink all the time, and then you disappear for days!” She growled in frustration, her hands expressively waving about in the air.  


“It is not unusual.” Fenris stated. “I have been away before.” Usually he was working odd jobs, mercenary work and guarding cargo for coin when Hawke was busy with her own tasks.  


“And we can usually find you when you're gone, or at least have an idea of where you've been! You made Merrill cry, Fenris!” Hawke exclaimed.  


“It was not my intention to alarm the wi- her.” Fenris replied. “It's not as if we are close.”  


“She was convinced it was all her fault that you disappeared, Fenris!” Hawke said. “Of course she cried! Andraste's flaming tits, Fenris, I might've cried too if Aveline didn't find you!”  


“I apologize.” Fenris said softly. Stubbornly cheerful Hawke wasn't the type of person to cry. To think he upset Hawke so deeply... it was a surprise. He never meant for that to hurt her.  


“You better.” Hawke muttered. Her shoulders slumped. “I just... I've lost my family, Fenris. I don't want to lose my friends too.” Fenris scowled at his feet. His dreams had gone beyond terrorizing him. Now they were bothering his companions with their destructive effects.  


“I'm sorry.” Fenris said quietly. “I didn't mean to alarm you. Any of you.”  


“Merrill said you weren't sleeping well, and Varric told me you were shopping around for a healer, and Anders was so tight lipped.... then Aveline said you were drunk and haven't been taking care of yourself...” Hawke sighed and leaned against the fireplace mantle. “We care, Fenris. All of us do. Let us care for you.”  


“I... thank you, Hawke.” Fenris whispered. Hawke's mabari wandered over and flopped his large head onto his lap, gazing up at Fenris with pleading dark eyes. Fenris placed his hand on the dog's head and scratched. His stubby tail wagged quickly in response, and Fenris smiled. He had friends who cared for him, and even Hawke's mabari cared. Mabari were always said to be intelligent creatures, and Fenris was rather fond of Hawke's dog. The dog approved of him.  


“You're welcome.” Hawke replied. “I'd be really grateful if you'd tell me what's wrong. Even a little bit. We can help.”  


“I can't... I can't tell you, Hawke. I don't understand it myself.” Fenris said vaguely. “I will resolve it myself in time.” What sort of help could Hawke give him? What could help him? He was no closer to fixing it now than he was when the nightmares first started.  


“Well, shit.” Hawke muttered under her breath.  


“What?”  


“Umm, well, Fenris.” Hawke said hesitantly, biting her lower lip. “Please don't get mad at me.”  


“I won't.” Fenris promised. He could never stay angry at Hawke.  


“I wrote Bethany. I thought she might have some advice to help you sleep, since she's in the Circle and has so many books on magic and shit.” Hawke shrugged awkwardly. “I got her letter this morning. I should give Thrask something, he got it past that Knight-Captain. Cullen, right?”  


“You did what?” Fenris asked, completely shocked that, not only did Hawke have a message smuggled into the Gallows for his sake, but her sister Bethany broke the rules and responded. They put themselves at terrible risk to do something so incredibly foolish. He wished they hadn't done it.  


“I wrote Bethany. She said that there are plenty of reasons why you could be having trouble sleeping. She wrote down a recipe for a sleep potion.” Hawke replied. “Anders can brew it, or we can get someone else if you want.”  


“I... thank Bethany for me.” Fenris said politely. Bethany was as generous as her older sister, and Fenris could admit that she was the first mage he hadn't feared. She was powerful, but she never wanted to hurt others. She was a stronger person than Fenris. If anyone could solve the mystery behind his nightmares, it would be Bethany.  


“She really thinks you should speak with Anders about it. I have to agree.” Hawke's expression was serious. “He's a good healer, Fenris, and he's worried about you.”  


The mage? Worried? Over him? It was easily the most bizarre thing to fall out of Hawke's mouth. He couldn't have been more surprised, even if Isabela suddenly declared that she was renouncing her wanton ways in order to become the next Divine. Fenris was not worthy of the mage's worry or pity, not after what he had done to the man almost nightly in his dreams. But Hawke looked like she would drag him to the mage's clinic should he outright refuse to see him.  


“Let me... let me think on it, Hawke.” Fenris said, scratching the mabari's head. “I am grateful. To all of you.”  


“Fenris, please tell me what's going on.” Hawke pleaded, walking over and placing her hand over his. “You can't live like this. Aveline was right when she said you're nothing but skin and bones. We can all see it.”  


“I'm sorry, Hawke. I can't.” Fenris said, his voice strained. “I just... can't. Don't ask me this.” He couldn't tell anyone. What could he even say? That he had nightmares where he tortured one of her closest companions, a man who was almost too empathetic for his own good? How could he tell her that, let alone explain himself? Fenris knew he couldn't.  


“Will you at least stay for dinner, then?” Hawke asked. “Merrill's coming by, and Orana's made this roasted goat and vegetable stew.... it's really good!” He didn't doubt it. Hadriana's former slave was eager to prove her worth, and even more eager to earn money for the light work she did at the mansion. She usually packed food for “Lady Hawke” to bring on her trips, food that Hawke always shared.  


“I won't impose on your meal.” He insisted. A private meal between lovers was not meant to be shared, especially with him.  


“You're not imposing. Merrill and I would love to have you here for dinner, Fenris. That's all I ask.” Hawke's eyes matched her mabari's pleading gaze, and Fenris found that couldn't refuse her.  


“Very well, Hawke. I shall join you and Merrill for dinner.”

 

Merrill came to the estate for dinner, and was delighted to see Fenris. He found it somewhat alarming. She rushed up to him the moment she saw him standing near the fireplace, and for a few terrifying moments Fenris was certain she'd launch herself at him and hug him. She nearly threw her arms around his shoulders. But she held back at the last moment and instead awkwardly stood near him, her hands hovering anxiously over him, wanting to check him over but not willing to do so without his express permission.  


“Oh, Fenris! I'm so sorry, I should have offered to make a potion for you when you asked for help, I've been a terrible friend to you. Ir abelas, lethallin.” She had said, her large eyes full of tears. Fenris shuffled his feet and politely told her it wasn't her fault. Merrill opened her mouth to say more, but the dinner bell rang and they joined Hawke in the dining room.  


Dinner was a culinary success but a conversational failure. Merrill and Hawke carried the conversation, and Fenris occasionally offered his own input. Merrill kept apologizing for not looking out for him, Fenris kept reassuring her that she did nothing wrong, and Hawke kept trying to get Fenris to tell her what was wrong with him, which only made him more uncooperative. Conversation was poor, to say the least.  


Orana was delighted that “Ser Fenris” was staying for dinner, and had created many dishes to tempt him into eating. Fenris was partial to the vegetable stew and a strange, savory dish that contained leeks, cheese, and apples. Later, after dinner and conversation were over, Orana refused to let him leave the home without a loaf of fresh bread and several apples left over from the larder. He left Hawke's mansion well fed but full of anxiety, and faintly heard Merrill speaking with Hawke at the doorstep.  


“You don't think we should go after him, ma vehnan?” Merrill asked her lover.  


“Fenris is being Fenris. We'll wait for him, it's what he wants.” Hawke had replied.  


Fenris was now curled up in the center of his bed, staring at the fireplace. Sleep was necessary, he knew that, but he dreaded what awaited him once he closed his eyes and let his mind wander the Fade. Maybe they were right. Maybe he should speak to Anders. Fenris would do it tomorrow, he decided, when the sun was high and he could not sleep. He resolved to sleep tonight, to find what rest he could, and to pay close attention to all aspects of his nightmare. Anders was a skilled healer, he understood how bodies and minds worked, and Fenris could almost convince himself that he could trust the man. The mage had offered him aid before, had defended his privacy multiple times, and all their companions vouched for him... yes, Fenris decided. He would speak with the mage. Tomorrow, he thought as he stared through the holes in his ceiling into the night sky filled with twinkling stars. Tomorrow... tomorrow....  


He was asleep before he was aware that he had shut his eyes.

 

Cold stone and flickering torchlight greeted Fenris's eyes when he next opened them, and he braced himself for whatever horrible thing would happen next. What would he force the mage to endure? What would Hadriana entice him to do to an innocent? How much blood, real or imagined, should stain his hands before he could truly be free of these shackles?  


When nothing came for him, not the quiet sobs of the mage or the cold laughter of Hadriana, or even the soft, calculated chuckle of Danarius, Fenris looked up. Was he alone? No, no he was not. The mage was sitting on the edge of a cot, dressed in a linen robe, bare feet firmly planted on the ground. His hands were clasped together, his elbows resting on his knees. He was hunched over, face pointed to the ground. His limp hair covered his face and expression.  


There were no chains, and he could see no guards or lock on the door. Fenris cautiously stepped forward, towards the mage, who did not react.  


“Mage? Mage, I'm sorry.” He whispered, voice shaking nervously. “I've... I've done you a terrible wrong. But we can escape, you and I. Leave this place. You deserve better than this.” The mage did not respond.  


“I was wrong about you.” Fenris admitted. “You aren't an abomination, not truly. I have seen worse in Tevinter. You are a fool, but not a monster. Not... not like me.” He reached out to grasp the mage's hand, thought better of it, and pulled away. “I swear that I shall make this right. Even if it kills me I shall make it right.”  


“There is no need.” Anders responded, voice curiously flat.  


“There is every need! I have... the things I have done.” Fenris's voice broke, and he stopped speaking.  


“I remember them. But it is done with.”  


“Mage, what are you saying?” Fenris could not believe what he was hearing. Even if it was an Anders who lived in dreams, Fenris knew the man held grudges. These were not actions that could be easily forgiven or forgotten, and the mage had dismissed them so easily. Too easily.  


“It is the past.” Anders kept his head down, and Fenris knelt by his side.  


“Why won't you look at me?” Fenris asked. When Anders lifted his head it felt as if he had been punched in the gut.  


“It doesn't hurt.” Anders said serenely as Fenris stared, horrified, at the burnt sun emblem in the center of the mage's forehead. The Mark of Tranquility.  


“Who did this?” Fenris breathed, horror and rage coursing through his body. It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real- but that mark stood out, red against pale flesh, and it was real enough. “Anders, who did this to you?”  


“I had it performed earlier.” Hadriana's voice echoed through the small cell. “He was far too loud and it annoyed me. Now he'll be quiet when you do your work.” Hadriana's dark lips quirked up into a self-satisfied smirk. “Shall we begin?”  


“No.” Fenris responded. “No.”  


“Oh don't be recalcitrant now.” Hadriana mocked. “I know how you desire him. You were so eager yesterday... how many times was it, Fenris? Three? Four?”  


“Six.” Anders said with no inflection in his voice. “You stopped him after that.”  


From far away, Fenris heard someone release a tortured scream, but it wasn't until he had his arm halfway through Hadriana's chest that he realized the sound came from his own throat. He tightened his bare hand around Hadriana's heart, the flesh surprisingly warm before he ripped it out of her chest.  


“You will never lay a finger on him again.” Fenris growled out, but Hadriana's hands gripped his arm and kept him from removing his hand from her chest. Her blue eyes glowed with an unnatural power as she began to laugh a long, drawn out, hacking sort of laugh.  


“You may tear my body apart, here and in the waking world.” She hissed out, blood dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. “Tear it like some cheap costume. But I'll never truly die.” She patted his cheek with one cold hand, an almost motherly gesture that horrified Fenris. “Another shall take my place, and another, until you succumb. There is no place you can rest, no place you can run to, where we won't find you-” The rest of her speech was garbled as more blood spilled and she collapsed on the floor, finally dead.  


Fenris fell as well, and crawled to where the mage sat on the cot, serene and still. Fenris placed his head on the mage's lap and sobbed like a child. The mage's hand patted Fenris's head, a hollow gesture of consolation.  


“I'm sorry, Anders. I'm so, so sorry.” Fenris managed to sob out.  


“It is better this way.” Anders replied, still patting Fenris's head. “I am no longer a danger. Isn't it better? I will not hurt anyone, and I will be less trouble.”  


“No. I did not mean for this to happen.” Fenris murmured. “Not to you. Not to anyone.” He was resolved now. He knew what he must do. He dried his tears and looked up at the blank face of the mage, igniting his markings one last time.  


“I am sorry, Anders. Forgive me.” He whispered as he reached his hand into the mage's chest and-  


Fenris woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to everyone who has read, left comments, and/or kudos on this story. I truly appreciate it!
> 
> The next update may be delayed, but I'll attempt to have it out before Friday. I can guarantee it will be up by Saturday.


	5. Chapter 5

Someone was loudly pounding on the front door of the mansion. Fenris uncurled from his fetal position in the middle of the mattress and cocked his head to try and figure out who was at the door. It wasn't the sound of an armored fist banging on wood, which ruled out Aveline or Hawke. Sebastian's knock was always polite and quiet, three quick raps on the door. Merrill would hesitantly stand in the doorway and call his name until he came down. Isabela and Varric didn't bother with knocking. Varric would sit in the foyer and wait for Fenris to walk downstairs, and Isabela would sneak through the mansion and try to catch him in bed.  


Anders did not visit him, for which Fenris was grateful.  


But this brought him to the person now knocking on his door. He rolled off his mattress and cautiously headed down the stairs to answer the front door. Whoever it was was not stopping, and it didn't sound like they'd stop until Fenris answered. He padded over on silent feet, but stumbled back when he heard the muttering behind the door.  


“Stupid, stubborn elf. 'I will manage it' he says. 'Leave me with it' he says. Stupid self-sacrificing bronto shit, that's what it is.” It was Anders, standing on the stoop and complaining under his breath, his irritated tone assuring Fenris that his nightmare of last night was just that: a nightmare. The tranquil Anders had not complained once when he was with Fenris, and this Anders, the real Anders, uttered complaints every moment he drew breath.  


“Andraste's tits, Fenris!” Anders called out through the door. “I know you're behind the door, your lyrium brands are practically humming!”  


Fenris glanced down and realized that the mage had a point- sometime between the moment he woke up and the moment Anders addressed him, Fenris's markings activated. He forced them to go quiescent and refused to answer.  


“Just because I can't sense the markings now doesn't mean I don't know you're there, Fenris.” Anders said slowly, as if he was addressing a child. “Will you at least let me inside? Your neighbors are starting to stare.”  


“Go away, mage.” Fenris croaked out. The mage was the last person he wanted to see today. Or any day, but especially today. Fenris knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself together if he saw the mage now. He'd be on his knees begging for forgiveness for crimes he did not commit. The only thing defending him from revealing what a monster, an abomination, he was to the world was the oak door that stood between Anders and himself. He couldn't open it.  


“Oh please.” Anders snorted. “You think you're frightening? Pounce was far scarier than you, Fenris. Just open the door.”  


“I thought you said you respected boundaries, mage.” Fenris replied caustically.  


“Oh, I do. But I am a healer, and I won't stand by and watch you slowly die because you have no idea how to take care of yourself.” Anders huffed, and Fenris visualized the man crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “So open the door already because apparently I value your life more than you do.”  


“No. Go away, Anders. Please.” Fenris immediately replied. He, however, remained at his spot behind the door, waiting for the mage to finally leave, and oddly hoping that he would stay. It was silent beyond the door, though Fenris could hear the faint sound of boots shuffling on the stone stoop outside. Anders was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.  


“That's the first time you've ever been polite to me. Something's wrong.” Anders said softly.  


“Just leave me alone.” Fenris replied.  
I'll scream.” Anders warned. “Loudly.”  


“What will you scream?” Fenris asked reluctantly. He didn't doubt the mage's words. He was ridiculous enough to go through with it and shout loudly in the middle of Hightown. Fenris often wondered if the man enjoyed making a spectacle of himself.  


“Oh, you know. Murder. Theft. Mad elf in the haunted mansion.” Anders replied breezily. “The usual.”  


“You best come in, then.” Fenris said, unlocking the door and swinging it inwards. The mage lightly stepped into the dark foyer, and Fenris shut the door behind them.  


Fenris noted that the mage was looking around the ruined foyer, amber eyes full of curiosity as he glanced every which way, taking in the exposed rafters and holes in the ceiling, the broken tiles, the decomposing bodies Fenris kept out in the entrance to discourage looters and slavers. Nothing escaped the mage's sharp eyes. Fenris hunched slightly, not wanting the man to look too close at him and realize everything that was wrong with the elf.  


“You know, I've never really been in here before.” Anders remarked casually, using his staff to poke one of the bodies sprawled out in front of what once was a table. “That is, I've never been invited inside. It's, umm...” He let his words die in the air.  


“Feel free to leave at any time.” Fenris muttered. “Your presence here deprives me of much needed rest.”  


“Ha ha.” Anders sneered. “That was almoost funny, but I know you haven't gotten any rest.”  


“How do you know that?” Fenris asked, quicker than casual conversation required. He had almost convinced himself that the mage didn't know about the nightmares, about what Fenris did to him, but if he knew-  


“Oh, you've told everyone else that you're 'not sleeping well,' but that bronto-piss doesn't fool me.” Anders said, ignoring (perhaps not noticing?) Fenris's alarm. “It's written all over your body. Your shoulders are too tense, you've gotten clumsier in battle, and you practically fall asleep on your feet if you stand in one place too long.” He uncrossed his arms and held them out, an imitation of some street performer. “So here I am, the runaway apostate healer, coming to the household of a murderous elf who hates me, just to make sure he gets a good night's rest.”  


“Hawke put you up to this. Or Varric.” Fenris said flatly. There was no possible way the mage came of his own free-will.  


“Excuse me, but Hawke didn't notice you were having a serious problem until Merrill burst into tears over it during Wicked Grace night last week. Which you missed, by the way. Because you were drunk.” Anders stated, his mouth thinning into a line of irritation. “And Varric didn't ask me. I showed up here because, as much as you want to fling my guts around your home like Wintersend decorations, I care about people. I care about healing. And I care about my patients, and you happen to be one of them.”  


Fenris almost dropped his mouth open in shock as the mage openly declared the reason why he had come to see him. It seemed utterly impossible, but there he was.  


“You are a fool.” Fenris muttered, and Anders shrugged in response.  


“Perhaps. But no greater fool than you. Now come on, we're getting to the bottom of this. Show me where you've been sleeping.” The mage ordered, completely at ease with making demands and invading Fenris's privacy.  


“What?” Fenris was not going to bring the mage to his bed. Not with the dreams he was having. The thought of the mage in a bedroom- no. He would not. Could not. The mage didn't head up the stairs, but he stood with his feet firmly planted on the tile. He was not going to leave until Fenris relented.  


“It could be as simple as you sleeping on a bad mattress, or breathing bad air. Or even not being able to breath properly at all.” Anders said matter of factly. “I have to take a look before I can determine what the problem is.”  


“Is it necessary?” Fenris asked, and was surprised when Anders's gaze softened, amber eyes staring at him with a fond sort of exasperation that Fenris had never seen before, never mind had directed towards him.  


“Fenris, I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it could help you.” Anders said softly. “And I will never use anything that comes out of this to hurt you. You need a healer, so here I am. If that's not enough, take my oath as a Grey Warden.” He shrugged at that. “It's not worth much, but it's something that I took seriously, once. I swear I will not harm you, on my honor as a Warden.”  


Fenris felt a thick lump of emotion swell up in his chest, blocking his throat. They were right. Varric, Isabela, Hawke... everyone. The mage would not harm him.  


“Follow me.” He mumbled, and led the mage up and into his bedroom. Each booted footfall echoed in Fenris's ears, and his heart beat fast, too fast, against his ribcage as he softly stepped over the decomposed body of a slaver on the stairs and stepped around the moldy parts of the carpet. He opened the door to his bedroom and let Anders step inside.  


“It's... cleaner than I expected.” Anders remarked as he took in the shabby room. It was not immaculate by any means, but Fenris maintained the pieces he used (a weapons rack, the bed, a table, a chair). The room was swept, there was no mold, and certainly no dead and decaying things lying about. The bedroom, bathing chamber, and kitchen were the three places Fenris bothered to keep clean. Everything else was too much space. Let it all rot down, Fenris thought bitterly. It would prove a fitting end to the place.  


“Well, that rules out bad fumes. I thought you might be breathing in some strange mold or fungus, but that seems unlikely.” Anders muttered under his breath, pacing around the room. “And there was that nightmare on Sundermount...” He walked to the mattress and pressed his hand into it.  


“Do you wake up with any particular pains? Unusual, that is. Sore back, sides?”  


“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Fenris answered. He was accustomed to pain, and would have noticed anything new.  


“We'll rule that out for now, then. No fumes, not the mattress... what is your routine? Before you go to bed?” Anders seemed to be going through a mental check-list, but Fenris bristled at this intrusion of privacy.  


“Why do you need to know that?” He asked harshly.  


“I'm grasping at straws here, Fenris.” The mage explained patiently. “There has to be an explanation for your lack of sleep, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.” This... this made sense to Fenris. Eliminate the false and all that remained would be the truth. It was a plan, one that Fenris could understand. It didn't even require the use of magic, which the mage seemed to use so casually. Fenris understood, and complied.  


“I arrive at the mansion, eat, spend some time practicing sword-work, or stretching. I'll have some wine, read some, then wash up and go to bed.” Fenris did not elaborate that his reading was practicing the alphabet and slowly working his way through a children's fairy tale book as the book on Shartan that Hawke gifted him glimmered temptingly on the mantle of the fireplace.  


“Please tell me it's just a glass of wine.” Anders groaned, eyeing the empty bookshelf that Fenris had decorated with empty bottles.  


“Usually a bottle. Sometimes more.” Fenris hardly saw any issue with it. There was wine in the cellar and it needed drinking. It was a spoil of battle, and one of the few he enjoyed. Hawke had her penchant for collecting torn trousers, why couldn't he have his own quirk? Most had been stamped out of him in Tevinter, under Danarius.  


“Knickerweasels, Fenris, that is a problem!” The mage exclaimed. “Too much alcohol and you'll be an utter mess.”  


“It.... it helps, mage.” Fenris answered, wanting to remain vague, but the mage did not hear him.  


“How could it possibly help? Granted, wine makes you feel fuzzy and light for a while, but then it gives some of the worst hangovers ever! No wonder you're so irritable all the time!” Anders ranted.  


“Not that, the wine helps with... with my markings.” Fenris mumbled. The mage went silent, the fight and fire drained out of him, and Fenris continued. Now the truth was out in the open, he felt that he couldn't stop. “They hurt. Hurt all the time. But with enough wine, they are quiet.”  


“So you use the wine as a pain-killer.” Anders concluded.  


“Yes.”  


“Do you even like wine? Or is it just what works best?” He asked, and Fenris was again reminded of the mage's insatiable curiosity. One answer was never enough. But this was a question Fenris was willing to answer.  


“I have wine readily available.” Fenris stated. “But I have found that I... enjoy the taste. Sometimes I wonder if my enjoyment is because I could not indulge and drink when I was a slave.”  


“Ha, indulging. I understand, I did it enough before I merged with Justice- wait.” Anders stopped his cheerful rambling, suddenly introspective. “Lyrium. Your markings are lyrium, you drink because of the lyrium...” He shook his head, and Fenris saw a faint blue glow tracing up the mage's veins. “No, no, I can't ask that of him, we can't ask that- it's a possibility, yes I understand Justice, but he hates magic, he won't be happy with this-”  


“What does your... spirit want with me?” Fenris asked hesitantly, avoiding the word abomination because Anders looked slightly on edge and Fenris had no desire to start a shouting match in his inner-sanctum.  


“It's something he suggested. I agree that he may be right, that it's worth trying out.” Anders said hesitantly. “But Fenris, if you don't want to do this we'll think of something else. I won't make you uncomfortable, especially over your health.”  


“What do you propose I should do?” Fenris asked, hackles raised because Anders was never this considerate with him.  


“We think you should fall asleep. Justice will enter the Fade and confront anything that's there.”

 

Fenris bit down on his lip to prevent himself from demanding the mage leave his home before he tore out his heart. This was too much, he would see it, see the dreams, see what a monster Fenris truly was. The mage's demon would never let him live if he saw what Fenris had done to his host, how much he lusted after the body of the man, what he had done, what happened to him because Fenris was weak and a coward and an abomination.  
Fenris did not want to die at the hands of the demon that rode in the mind of Anders. But it was what he deserved after all he had done. He took a deep breath and bowed his head.  


“I accept your offer.” He said dully.  


“Yes, I understand. We'll come up with something else, Fenris, it's not worth fighting over- wait, what?” Anders stopped and stared, goggle-eyes and open-mouthed, at Fenris, as if he had never seen him before. “Did you just say what I thought you said? You'll... do it?”  


“Yes. Where do you want me?” Fenris replied, his heart heavy. This was for the best, he reminded himself. It was the right thing to do.  


“Uh, just lay down on the bed.” Anders seemed dazed. “Make yourself comfortable first, of course. I'll give you some privacy.” The mage busied himself with some of the potions in one of his pockets, and Fenris uneasily settled down on his mattress. He lay on his back and breathed deeply. Anders returned his attention to him. He held two glass bottles in his hands.  


“Here.” The mage thrust one towards Fenris, who hesitantly took it. “Sleeping potion. It'll help.” Fenris nodded and uncorked the bottle as Anders downed a lyrium potion.  


“Fenris, before we start, I'm going to explain what Justice and I will be doing.” Anders gazed into Fenris's eyes with his most serious expression on his face. “When you enter the Fade, I'll use the lyrium potion, which will send me there as well. That is, I'll be there, but riding passenger to Justice. He will inform me if we find anything unusual there. You'll be safe, Fenris, I promise you that.”  


“And this stays between us?” Fenris whispered. He knew he had given up his expectation of privacy when he had agreed to let the mage into his mansion. It wouldn't be a surprise of he told everyone what he would soon see, when Anders saw what monstrosities lurked within Fenris's nightmares.  


“Yes, Fenris. Whatever happens here stays between us.” Anders's lips twitched into a brief, nervous grin as Fenris took the sleeping potion. His eyelids drooped as the mage took the bottle from his hand, set it on the floor, and helped him lay back down on his bed.  


“Thank you.” He murmured as Anders's face became more blurry and all he could see was  


Fenris hadn't even realized when his head hit the pillow, as he was already hurtling back into the Fade to face his nightmares.

Fenris was alone again, curled up on the cold stone. He was utterly resigned to his fate. Whatever punishment Anders planned to release on him after he discovered how disgusting Fenris was was well deserved. He would not fight on this matter. The cell door creaked open, and Fenris didn't bother to look up. The footsteps were heavy, which suggested that it wasn't Hadriana standing near him.  


“I heard you killed my apprentice.” Danarius, then. Fenris suppressed the shudders that ran through his body and remained in his hunched position on the ground. “I was quite surprised, but then again, Hadriana was always too confident. She stuck her head in the mouth of my little wolf. It is no surprise that she had it bitten off.” A cold hand combed through Fenris's hair, carding the strands with a gentleness that made Fenris shrink away, already expecting the blow that would follow. Danarius's strike was as swift and harsh as Fenris remembered it, the sharp cuff to the side of his face unbalancing him as he sprawled out across the stone floor.  


“You have brought someone with you this time, my pet.” Danarius cooed as Fenris scrambled back up to a kneeling position. “But they are far away. Is it that mage you are so enamored with? Hadriana's experiments have been most... enlightening.” When Fenris refused to answer his former master, the magister grew angry, gripping Fenris's chin with one hand and forced him to look up.  


“He will not save you, Fenris. What is the point in saving a wild thing like you?” Danarius sneered. “Rebellious, taciturn, violent... no one wants a wolf at their door, not when they bite and scratch anyone who shows them a small kindness.” Fenris's heart sank as he realized the truth in the dream Danarius's words. He was wild and rebellious. He would turn on those who wished to help him. Fenris was nothing but a monster, and no one, not even a skilled healer like Anders, could save him.  


“How many will you hurt, pet, before you stop running?” Danarius asked, and Fenris could not answer. “It's all you know. Hurting. It will spread beyond the boundaries of your dreams. You will hurt that mage. You will hurt everyone.”  


Fenris couldn't deny it. Until he had run to Kirkwall and met Hawke, Fenris could hardly comprehend what friendship was. But he had an idea what that meant now, and he would rather suffer than turn on his friends because of a lack of self-control. He had no control over his dreams. How soon would it be before it bled over and spread into real life? Danarius was right. Fenris was a fool playing at being free, but he didn't deserve it.  


“No one wants you, Fenris. No one but me.” Danarius crooned and petted his hair again. Fenris did not fight back. “Give yourself to me. You need a firm hand, my little wolf, and only I can give that to you. You will send that mage away when he comes. You will remain here, where I can keep an eye on you.”  


“If I do, will you let him go?” Fenris asked quietly. Danarius's hand stilled on his head.  


“You ask for so much, my pet. But it is not impossible. I could allow it.” Danarius resumed his petting. “Perhaps I will.”  


“Please. Please let him go.” Fenris begged, his voice hoarse. Danarius's harsh, dry chuckle filled Fenris's ears and echoed around the room, and Fenris knew the man would deny his request. He would find Anders this time, but the real Anders, and he would turn Fenris on him- he wouldn't be able to stop himself and the boundary between dream and reality would break.  


“This is amusing, my pet. What would happen if I captured the mage? Would you cry? I have seen you moved to tears once, when I performed the ritual and granted you your abilities. But you are too proud to cry, aren't you?” Danarius continued to chuckle. “But this, oh this is different. Who is this mage who holds your heart so firmly? I should like it meet-” Danarius's oily, almost hypnotic monologue was cut off with a gurgling gasp of the incredibly surprised. Fenris looked up, and saw the tip of a red-stained blade emerging from the center of his former master's chest. The man crumpled to the floor, gasping and writhing in his death throes.  


It was Anders. No, not Anders, Fenris realized as electric blue darted through the veins of the man's skin and swam in his normally warm brown eyes. It wasn't the mage at all. It was his demon. Spirit. Justice.  


**“A pride demon.”** Justice rumbled through Anders's mouth. **“One of many lurking in this place. They sense power and are drawn to it like vultures to carrion.”**  


“A demon?” Fenris asked as Danarius's body went still. Hadriana, Danarius, all the horrors of his nightmares were the work of demons? And he had nearly- he almost gave his control to-  


**“Yes, elf.”** Justice looked at him then, the blue eyes seeing too much. **“There are many of its ilk here. It would not be wise to linger. I have seen what they have done here, and know what they will do. We must leave, and quickly.”**  


“Why aren't you joining them?” Fenris spat out, edging away from the image of Anders that was not Anders. “Why won't you torment me as well?”  


**“I am no demon.”** The serious expression that Justice wore did not sit well on Anders's face. It felt wrong, as wrong as the deep voice that shaped words with Anders's mouth. It was... unnerving. **“Anders wishes to help you, elf. I have seen the wrong done here. It cannot be allowed to continue.”**  


“Why help me?” Fenris asked. “If you've seen what they planned, then you know what I've done... there can be no justice in letting me go.”  


**“I have learned much from my time outside my home in the Fade.”** Justice seemed thoughtful at that. **“You have disrespected Anders, you do not see the justice of our cause. In the Fade you committed acts of great cruelty towards my friend. But in the waking world, you have protected us despite your hatred. What was done here was under the direction and influence of demons...”** Justice was quiet for some time, and Fenris cautiously lifted himself off the ground. **“You will tell Anders everything. He will decide what he wishes to be done with you. That is justice.”**  


Fenris bowed his head, his throat tightening up as Justice proclaimed his sentence.  


“I accept.” He said quietly.  


**“It is time for you to leave this realm. I can feel Anders calling me back to the waking world.”** Justice frowned, reaching a hand out to perhaps cup Fenris's cheek, but he pulled back.  


**“It is difficult to understand mortal attraction.”** Justice said quietly. **“Anders is... he feels too much. It is loud within his head. But with you it is different. Perhaps...”** Justice was fading away, and Fenris felt his own body tingling, signaling that he would soon wake up. He shut his eyes and was catapulted straight into the waking world.

 

There was a fire in the fireplace. Fenris heard the crackling of the flames and felt the heat on his face. Someone was moving around the room. Anders. Fenris shifted his head to the side and cracked his eyes open, watching the mage through the fringe of his hair as Anders stirred the fire with an iron poker. He turned, as if he sensed he was being watched, and Fenris could not pretend sleep.  


“Fenris, are you awake?” Anders asked softly. Fenris hesitantly nodded.  


“Yes.” He croaked out, his mouth dry and heart pounding in his chest. Anders walked over and placed his hand on Fenris's forehead.  


“No fever.” He stated calmly. “It seems like there were no ill-effects.” He settled down into the chair next to Fenris's bed and nervously fiddled with the frayed edge of his jacket. Fenris pulled himself up into a sitting position. Neither man could look at the other.  


“I... thank you for your help.” Fenris said awkwardly. What could he say to the man now? He knew he had to tell him... tell him everything. He dreaded it.  


“It was the lyrium.” Anders explained, meeting Fenris's gaze with his own. “The demons were drawn in by all that lyrium.” The firelight glimmered on his hair, and Fenris wished he could touch it and learn if the texture was as silken as it was in his nightmares- no. No, he would not. He kept his hands on his lap, where they balled into fists.  


“The lyrium?” Fenris asked instead, his heart sinking in despair. Danarius's handiwork would haunt every aspect of his life, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was cursed.  


“It draws spirits, demons. Both, really. But the demons are attracted to instability. They wanted to take advantage, so they waited until you were unstable.” Anders sighed. “Fenris, most mages don't encounter the amount of demons you have. What happened there in the Fade, no one could hold out against that.” Anders reached out and placed a strong, warm hand on Fenris's own. “Don't agonize over it. What's done is done, and I don't blame you for what you couldn't control.”  


“You would not have fallen prey to their demands.” Fenris muttered, self-loathing dripping in every word like a knife dipped in oil. “You would have resisted.”  


“I also have intimate knowledge of the Fade and know what lurks there!” Anders sounded exasperated, a tone Fenris was familiar with. “And I have never encountered five demons in one place feeding on my volatile, fragile emotional state!”  


“Five?” Fenris could not believe it.  


“Yes, Fenris. Five. You had five demons clamoring all over you.”Anders began to list the demons on his fingers. “One lust demon, two rage, a pride demon, and a sloth demon following the pride demon around and sapping your willpower and strength. We had a good look around when we were trying to find you. The pride demon was determined to keep you hidden.”  


Fenris did not know what to say. Should he thank the mage again? Should he express his surprise that a group of demons would fixate so much upon him? Should he ask more questions about the demons that apparently hunted him down and tormented him overt he past fortnight?  


“I had thought demons only hunted mages.”  


“Apparently your markings send you deep enough into the Fade that demons can find you. Maybe you have mage blood in your background.” Anders shrugged. “I can't pretend I know the answers, Fenris. But that's... that's why you haven't been getting any rest. But it's over now, no harm done.”  


“No.” Fenris whispered. “It's not done. I can't-”  


“Fenris, I heard what that demon was... well, suggesting.” Anders flushed at this, and Fenris couldn't understand why. Why would he flush over what Danarius, or the demon wearing Danarius's face, implied? It wasn't anything surprising or extraordinary, coming from Danarius.  


“I can imagine the kind of torments they were subjugating you to, so you don't have to tell me. I respect your privacy.” The mage's voice turned softer, tender and almost wistful. “Thank you for trying to protect Justice and I. It was... noble of you. Stupid, but noble. I know you don't like us, don't like me, but you stood up against the demons. So... thank you.”  


“I didn't. For a long time I obeyed them.” Fenris admitted. “You were there in the nightmares. Maybe it was a demon, or an illusion, but it looked like you. Acted like you. And they- I- hurt you. The thing that was you.” Fenris's voice was quiet, but it grew quieter still as he spoke. “It was small, at first. Stopping your magic, chaining you, beatings. It... it got worse, as I continued to dream. When Hadriana arrived, she... I...” He couldn't continue.  


“Demons prey on our weaknesses, Fenris.” Anders said consolingly. “They mix up emotions, chip at your defenses, tear you apart until you don't know what to do but give in. Usually they offer things, whatever you desire. But a huge group like the one attacking you... theoretically speaking they'd take a different approach. Make you do things you wouldn't, amplify your emotions. It wasn't you, Fenris.”  


“And the satisfaction I felt when it was over? What was that?” Fenris asked harshly. The mage was determined to see him as a victim, and Fenris was as determined to set the record straight. He was no victim, he had done harm towards a thing that he thought was Anders, and he had done so willingly.  


“Demons.” Anders said firmly. “They twist everything around in your head. They'll take something small, a desire to, say, strike me across the face- and don't give me that look, Fenris, I know you aren't the only one who has wanted to do that to me, I've been told I have a smart mouth.” Anders warned when Fenris opened his mouth to protest. “Where was I? Ah, yes. So you want to hit me, and those feelings linger. A demon takes that feeling, that thought, and elaborates. So instead of a slap across the face, it becomes a beating. Instead of fantasy, it becomes reality. Then the satisfaction and guilt become a messy ball that the demon can feed off of and continue their work. That's what was happening to you. Just with more demons, so a bigger mess.”  


“And what of rape, mage? How do you explain that?” Fenris asked, voice hoarse. He stared down at the blanket that covered his lower half. It was made of wool dyed in a faded moss green color. He picked at the rough weave with his fingers. “That is what Hadriana, the demon that took her shape, that's what she had me do to you- or the thing that was you.”  


“Sex can... sexual thoughts are prime targets for lust demons.” Anders's voice wavered slightly. “They take physical attraction and, well, do whatever they think will turn you to their side. I don't know why that was what they decided to do. But it wasn't you-”  


“I took you. Violently. Many times.” Fenris whispered bluntly, white-knuckled fingers clenching the woolen fabric of the blanket. “I could lie and say the demon made me do it, but I- I enjoyed it. Until I woke up. Do not excuse it.” They were silent for a long time, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fireplace.  


“Would you do it now?” Anders asked suddenly, cutting through the silence.  


“What?” Fenris couldn't believe what he heard. He must have heard wrongly.  


“Would you do it now? No one is here. I'm tapped out of mana. You could easily overpower me. Would you do what you did in your nightmares now?” Anders asked again, slower this time.  


“No!” Fenris recoiled, pulling his legs closer to himself and away from Anders.  


“Then I stand by my previous statement. The demons took something small and twisted it around to hurt you. Using me, which probably made it all the more complicated.” Anders glanced down at his hands, twisting into knots on his lap. “It couldn't have been easy for you. I know how much you dislike me, so it must have been a very upsetting time for you.”  


“You are surprisingly calm about this, considering what I've told you.” Fenris croaked out.  


“I'm trying to be rational, Fenris.” Anders retorted. “I don't see the point in kicking a man when he's down. So you find me physically attractive. You might have thought about what sex would be like between us, once or twice. A demon took that and made it worse, took what should be safe and made it violent and frightening.” He sighed at this. “I know how demons work, Fenris. That's why I'm calm.”  


“But I do not.” Fenris stated. “Demons are a mystery to me. I only know what power they wield, what harm they can do.” He knew nothing of their behavior. That was not his area of expertise.  


“And that's what I can help you with.” Anders replied. “I know how to help you.” Fenris lifted his head, and met the mage's calm gaze with his own.  


“How?” He asked. “There is nothing you can do. It's my mind that is broken, not my body. Magic will not mend it.”  


“You aren't broken, Fenris. You're injured, but not broken, and you can heal. I can help with that. At the very least I can help you fight the demons.” Anders sounded determined, serious, like a Grey Warden, when he said those words. Fenris could almost believe him. 

“Why do you care? I have always opposed you.” Fenris could not understand the mage's reasoning. It made no sense. Why would he willingly spend time helping him, when Fenris had admitted that he had nightmares where he violently raped the man. Nightmares where he enjoyed his assault. And here was the mage, offering his aid as easily as he would give it freely it to any of their friends. Fenris felt warmth bloom in his chest, even as his mind told him to refuse the mage's offer. 

“Fenris, as much as you hate me, the feeling is not mutual. I care about you. A lot more than is healthy, as Justice constantly reminds me.” Anders said firmly. “I want to help you because I care about your well-being. I want you to try and be happy, you know.” 

“I don't understand.” Fenris said softly. 

“I'm not stupid enough to expect you to return my feelings. Maker, Fenris, I'm not expecting anything to come from this.” Anders sighed. “I tend to fall for people who can't stand me, but I'm not enough of a fool to try and pursue it. So you don't have to worry about whatever it is you're worrying about.” 

“And you would keep this secret.” Fenris didn't bother asking if Anders could, he needed to know that the man would do so. “Your feelings, my nightmares, everything that has happened here and in the Fade. It would be a secret.” 

“Andraste's tits, Fenris, what do you think I've been doing?” Anders asked, exasperated. “I won't tell a soul and we'll get on with working on this demon problem of yours. I won't pursue anything further with you unless you tell me you want to try.” 

“I wouldn't mind... trying. Someday.” Fenris found himself saying. “When I can trust myself not to hurt my partner.” It was tempting to add that he would like that partner to be Anders. Anders, who saw so much of him, saw that darkness that lurked under his skin, and hadn't run. Who had, instead, sat next to him and offered his help. Fenris did not say this though. It could come later, when he had healed and when Anders was willing to have him. 

“I'd like to be that partner, if you'd have me.” Anders offered hesitantly. 

“You have shown me kindness where I deserve none.” Fenris's lips quirked into a small, brief smile. “And I do not hate you either, Anders.” 

“That's... that's something, at least.” Anders replied, returning the smile with one of his own. “A lot more than I was expecting, that's for certain.” 

“I will not pretend to understand your attraction to me.” Fenris stated bluntly. “It is odd. But you are an odd man. I will not question it. For now.” 

“I happen to have wonderful taste. Don't sell yourself short, Fenris.” Anders was smiling now, and Fenris was amazed by the fact that he had managed to put that expression on the tired man's face. It was gratifying to learn that being the cause of the mage's joy satisfied him more than being the cause of his hurts. They were quiet again, and Fenris felt awkward and shy, wanting to say more but unsure of what to say. 

“So...” Anders broke the silence. “I'll be helping you build a defense against demons in the Fade. But am I also allowed to court you now?” 

“Will you be patient with me?” Fenris asked. 

“Of course.” Anders smiled, almost indulgently. 

“I am not unfamiliar with sex.” Fenris was blunt. “But intimacy is something I have no memory of. I will need to learn.” 

“And I'll gladly teach you.” Anders assured him, an amused twinkle lighting up his eyes, as if he was already imagining the things he could teach Fenris. Fenris frowned. His next request was not nearly as lighthearted. 

“Do not tell the others.” Fenris said solemnly. “I do not wish to parade what we are doing in front of them.” 

“This is between us.” Anders said. “I cannot promise that they won't find out eventually, our friends being who they are. But they won't hear anything from me.” 

“That is sufficient.” Fenris said, and, feeling guilty, added to his statement. “I have never had a relationship that I could remember. I never expected to have one. It is something I would like to keep to myself for a while, should it work out.” 

“I understand.” Anders replied. “But you have to promise to stop fighting me in front of them.” When Fenris frowned at his words he elaborated. “If we want what's between us to work, we need to learn about each other. We need to learn to get along. It'll be easier to do that if we aren't constantly fighting in front of our friends.” 

“I can agree to that.” Fenris found it easy to agree to Anders's terms. “So, we will try?” 

“Yes, Fenris.” Anders asked, and held out his hand. “We will try.” 

Fenris took the mage's hand and held it firmly in his. “I look forward to it, Anders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, everyone! I wasn't fully satisfied with this chapter. It still feels a bit too rushed, but maybe I can return to it at a later date.
> 
> Once again, thanks to everyone who has read, left comments, bookmarked, and/or left kudos. I really appreciate it!
> 
> One more chapter left!


	6. Epilogue

Wicked Grace night at the Hanged Man was an event that Hawke made everyone attend. Varric may have organized the game and invited all the players, but Hawke was the one who went around and dragged her friends to the tavern to play. She had become even more dutiful in her retrieving duty after Fenris's accident in his cellar several months ago. So when Fenris heard the knock on his front door in the evening, he knew exactly who it was and wasn't at all surprised. It was the same knock he always expected from Hawke on Wicked Grace night. There were three loud bangs with an armored fist, an extended silence, and then three more bangs. What was different this time was that Fenris wasn't alone.  


“D'you want me to send them away?” Anders asked, shifting in his seat to wrap his arms around Fenris's waist. Books were scattered around where they sat on the floor in front of a cheery fire. Fenris's back was pressed against Anders's chest as they slowly worked through the Book of Shartan, the combined effort of Anders's patient tutelage and Fenris's determination pushing him through the thick tome.  


“Hmmmm, no.” Fenris mumbled. “I'll get it.” But he made no move to get up, and Anders sighed, his breath rustling the hair on Fenris's neck. His grip around his waist tightened.  


“I am serious, mage.” Fenris stated as Hawke knocked again, the blows heavy on the door. “If this continues Hawke will knock the door down.”  


“Don't care. This is more fun.” Anders buried his face into Fenris's hair.  


“You don't want to lose your coin to Isabela.” Fenris remarked casually, placing his hand over Anders's as he relaxed against Anders's chest.  


“She'll force me to play strip Diamondback again.” Anders whined, and Fenris's lips twisted up into an amused smirk.  


“I enjoyed it.” He stated, and Anders instantly perked up.  


“Really?” He sounded so eager that Fenris had to chuckle.  


“Yes.” Fenris confirmed, placing a strip of brightly colored ribbon in the book to mark their place. They made little progress today, too distracted by the conversation and their casual touches to tackle the next chapter. “I find you attractive, Anders. That cannot be a surprise for you.”  


“No, it's not. But it's nice to hear all the same.” Anders said, unwrapping Fenris from his grip and slowly getting up as Hawke banged on the door again, her muffled shouting barely audible. “You better hurry and answer the door. I'll put out the fire for you.” He pressed a brief kiss to Fenris's forehead and turned to put on his jacket and ridiculous feathered pauldrons. Fenris held back a foolish grin and hurried down the steps to prevent Hawke from causing more damage to his home.  


“Merrill, love, can you blast open this Maker damned door?” Hawke asked as Fenris approached the entrance.  


“Oh, Hawke, we can't do that! Fenris would be so cross!” Merrill sounded torn, as if saying no to her lover was painful. It was another thing that Fenris now found similar between himself and the blood witch. It was hard for him to deny Anders anything. Being close to him required much more strength of will than he had thought, but not in the ways he expected. Fenris had feared that his sexual appetites would overwhelm him and he would force himself on the mage. Instead, Fenris found that his desire to have conversations and give Anders attention outweighed his more lustful desires.  


“I would be terribly cross.” Fenris dryly addressed Merrill and Hawke as he opened the door. “Do not encourage her to acts of violence, Hawke.”  


“Oh Fenris, you know I wouldn't!” Merrill replied, obviously distressed. “We were worried about you, since you weren't answering, but I wouldn't knock down your door, I promise!”  


“You wouldn't. She would.” Fenris said, pointedly looking at an utterly unapologetic Hawke.  


“Since you're here now, Fenris, you can come with us to pick up Anders in Darktown-” Hawke began, her smirk widening as she said Anders's name. She had been trying to get Fenris to reveal his relationship with Anders, but the two let kept quiet.  


“No need, Hawke.” Anders said breezily as he walked down the stairs. “Fenris and I were having a little chat.” He brushed by Fenris, the touch much like one of his beloved cats twining around someone's legs as they begged for affection and attention.  


Fenris followed, locking the door behind him. Hawke and Merrill lead them down to the Hanged Man, holding hands as Merrill babbled about her day to an attentive and adoring Hawke. Fenris and Anders walked side by side behind them, their hands occasionally touching and sending sparks of delight up Fenris's arm. He only had to look at Anders's slightly pink face to determine that the same was true for him. Satisfied by his effect on the man, Fenris entered the Hanged Man and took his now customary seat between Aveline and Anders.  


“It's good to see you, Fenris.” Aveline said after Anders promised to bring them all drinks and left to place his orders with Corff. “You're looking well.”  


“Anders suggested a few changes in my routine. It has helped immensely.” Fenris replied. He wasn't lying. Anders had helped him with the demons, taught him how to strengthen barriers, how to sense and fight demons and protect himself in the Fade. Fenris needed little, if any assistance from Anders now. His defenses in the Fade were now strong enough to repel all but the strongest of demons, and they were rare. Rest was easier to find, and it began to ease some of the pain in his markings. It wasn't perfect. It never would be. But Fenris found that he could sleep through the night, which he could never remember doing before.  


“I'm surprised you listened.” Aveline said. “You didn't before.”  


“Anders insisted.” Fenris explained. “He would not let it go until I accepted.”  


“You've filled out so nicely these past few months.” Isabela purred out, lips spread wide in a delighted smile. “Has Anders been helping with that as well?”  


“Keep it in your smalls, whore.” Aveline snarked, rolling her eyes at Isabela's brazen leering.  


“Oh ho ho, Lady Manhands!” Isabela laughed from deep in her throat. “How do you know I'm even wearing smalls?”  


“You have to hide your cards somewhere, and there are too many people staring at your tits for them to be there.” Aveline snarked back, but she was smiling all the while.  


“So you're looking, then? Didn't think you had it in you!” Isabela chortled. Their playful banter continued back and forth, and Fenris kept quiet, enjoying the wordplay as Anders joined him.  


“I think you've gone soft since you started forging the moaning stone with Donnic.” Isabela teased. “Your insults don't have half the bite they usually do.”  


“Please, Isabela.” Sebastian had entered the room alongside Varric, holding a stack of letters in his hand. “Aveline's business with her husband is a private affair.”  


“Hardly private.” Hawke snorted from her place at the other end of the table. “Considering that Varric's writing it all down for his book.” Aveline's face ran red to the roots of her hair the moment Hawke mentioned the infamous book that bore her likeness. Fenris chuckled quietly at that. He and Anders had read the first part of Swords and Shields out loud one evening at the clinic, and Fenris learned that, while the man could not carry a tune, he had a talent for imitating voices. It marked one of the first nights of many where they enjoyed each others company without fighting.  


“It's a terrible book, hardly worth the paper it's printed on. Romance serials, why did I even bother.” Varric muttered, glancing over a few letters that Fenris assumed were from the Merchant's Guild. Varric only insulted his own writing when the guild was hounding him. He handed the latest stack of letters to Sebastian.  


“Here, Choir Boy. Burn these for me, will you?” Varric asked. “Maybe if a Chantry brother does it they'll stop writing.”  


“Shouldn't you answer them?” Sebastian asked, eyeing the pile of correspondence with mild distaste. “It seems like the proper thing to do.”  


“Nope. Waste of time.” Varric pulled out a pack of cards from his jacket. “They'll just send more letters, and think of all the trees!”  


“Will you join us tonight, Sebastian?” Fenris asked politely, and Sebastian shook his head.  


“No. I'm content to watch. Perhaps I will read Varric's letters. There may be something interesting there.” Sebastian replied cheerfully. Varric snorted in response.  


“If you think the Merchant's Guild has anything interesting to say, Choir Boy, you don't get out enough.” Varric stated. “Daisy, want to cut the deck?”  


“Of course, Varric!” Merrill seemed utterly delighted, and clumsily split the cards into halves and reshuffled them before handing them back. “There!”  


“You're getting better every time you play, kitten.” Isabela said, voice full of pride. “Soon we can teach you how to cheat!”  


“Maybe you'll teach her to hide the best cards in her smalls.” Anders teased. Fenris elbowed him in the side.  


“That was impolite, mage.” Fenris said cooly. “Especially since Merrill wears pants. How will she hide any cards, let alone the best?”  


“Don't cheat at Wicked Grace, Merrill.” Aveline said warily as Hawke glared at Fenris and Anders, who were busy trying not to laugh.  


“Oh, don't worry, Aveline! I only cheat at Diamondback, and I'm very bad at it.” Merrill sounded so cheerful when she admitted it that Anders burst into laughter.  


“Merrill, love, you weren't supposed to say that.” Hawke sighed fondly. “Let's get started, shall we?”  
Varric dealt the cards and they began the game.

 

What Fenris enjoyed the most about Wicked Grace nights was that everyone fixated on the game and tended to ignore other matters. Even Sebastian, who pretended to be engaged in his letter reading, was distracted by the argument between Hawke and Isabela over who had the better hand and which Song of Truth card was the real Song of Truth. With everyone so occupied over the game and the alcohol, no one noticed that he and Anders held hands under the table the entire time.  
Fenris had come to enjoy physical intimacy with the man. It was difficult at first. The light touches brought back his memories of pain, and for the first month of their arrangement Fenris flinched away from Anders's touch. But with patience and perseverance, they both learned how to communicate their needs. Anders let Fenris know when he wanted to touch him, and Fenris told Anders when it would be too much. As he acclimated to innocent touches, Fenris found he liked to be held while he slept. He learned that Anders was a terrible blanket thief and took up mattress space like the unfurled starfish that lurked in the tidal pools on Seheron. Fenris also learned that he didn't mind it too much when he woke in the morning, either at the clinic or in his mansion, and felt well-rested and content at Anders's side.  


“Andraste's knickerweasels, how does everyone but me manage to get a half-decent hand?” Anders grumbled as he revealed another mismatched hand of cards. Isabela tutted.  


“I'm starting to think you're utterly hopeless at this, Anders.” She sighed.  


“I think he's getting worse the more he plays.” Aveline remarked.  


“Oh yes, rub it in.” Anders replied. “Any more jokes and I won't supply either of you with those potions you need- you'll have to buy it from that Hightown herbalist like anyone else.”  


“Manners, Anders.” Fenris warned, but he knew Anders didn't mean his threat in earnest. He was too much a healer to allow a patient to remain in need, and he was always willing to supply contraceptive potions to those who needed them.  


“You've been using Blondie's name more often, Elf.” Varric commented as he reshuffled the deck. “Care to share?”  


“We have come to an... agreement.” Fenris said cautiously, squeezing Anders's hand tightly under the table. The mage returned the squeeze, and Fenris felt stronger, more reassured, at the gesture.  


“Of what kind?” Isabela questioned, eyes glittering like a treasure hoard. “An exciting one with long declarations of love and back massages?”  


“Only on Wednesdays.” Anders dead-panned as he ran his thumb along Fenris's knuckles, soothing him as Fenris glowered at the pirate.  


“I'm glad the two of you are getting along!” Merrill piped up from beside Hawke. “I always thought you'd be good friends!”  


“You'd be the only one, Daisy.” Varric chuckled. “But really, what kind of agreement?”  


“A private one.” Fenris replied quickly.  


“We talked out our differences and found we have a lot in common.” Anders said diplomatically. “Besides liking back massages, that it.” He added in a teasing tone.  


“An example being?” Sebastian asked from his spot at the table, looking up from the letter stack to pierce the two of them with his bright eyes.  


“We both like apples.” Fenris offered after a moment's silence. There were some similarities that neither of them wished to dwell on, similarities that they commiserated over as Anders helped him build his mental defenses and gain confidence in the Fade. But there were some, they found, that they were willing to share.  


“And we enjoy reading.” Anders commented shortly after Fenris, filling in the silence.  


“We prefer the outdoors to the indoors.” Fenris said.  


“We both keep late hours.” Anders admitted. “Sometimes too late.”  


“We also like debating each other.” Fenris continued. “Though not as we did before.”  


“That we already knew.” Hawke interjected. “It's just a surprise, coming from the two of you.”  


“We have our differences. That much is obvious.” Anders addressed the group at large. “But it's not an impossible gap to bridge. We have some common ground.”  


“We both thought it best to try and get along.” Fenris said. “So we are trying.”  


“It's strange to not hear you two bickering.” Aveline said dryly. “A good sort of strange. I could get used to it.”  


“If you wish for us to bicker, you need only ask.” Anders laughed, but his hand grasped Fenris's tightly all the while, and Fenris understood that Anders was only joking. He had no desire to argue. Fenris returned the gesture for a brief moment to reassure the man that he felt the same.  


“I find that I enjoy our moments of cooperation more than our spats.” Fenris commented, the group going silent at his words. Anders was curiously still at his side.. “As foolish as he can be, Anders has been a considerate friend.”  


“Friend, huh?” Varric raised an eyebrow at that. His fingers twitched against the tabletop, a clear sign that he would put his pen to paper the moment Fenris and Anders left the table. Fenris scanned the faces of their companions, noting the worried crease between Sebastian's brows and the wide smirk plastered on Isabela's lips. They would need to be spoken to, Fenris realized, and soon. Otherwise they would pry too far, and Fenris wanted to keep control of what the others knew. Perhaps it was selfish, but he wanted to be selfish for once.  


“Yes. A friend.” Anders said firmly. “It's a work in progress.”  


“We would appreciate it if you did not pry.” Fenris added. “Trust that we can do this ourselves.”  


“And what happens if we pry?” Hawke asked, her eyes glittering in a way that suggested she already knew more than Fenris would have liked.  


“It is a request, Hawke. That is all.” Fenris sighed. “And I thought we were here to play cards. Not discuss Anders and myself.”  


“Well...” Isabela said archly, leaning over the table in a way that gave everyone an eyeful of her ample assets. “If you want to show a little bit of that friendship, Fenris, why don't you partner up with Anders this round? I feel bad stealing coin from him.” Fenris's lips turned up into a predatory smile and he squeezed Anders's hand once more before turning his attention to the cards on the table.  


“Of course, Isabela. I'd be happy to.”

 

With Fenris's expertise and attentive aid, Anders finally won a game of Wicked Grace. The two exited the Hanged Man together later that night, Anders's pockets heavy with coin and Fenris's heart light like a bird on the wing.  


“By all rights the coin is yours, Fenris.” Anders said as they walked up the stairs to Hightown. “You're the one who played, really. I just put the cards down when you told me to.”  


“Keep it. I enjoy the memory of our companions expressions far more than whatever the coin could purchase.” Fenris replied, smirking at the memory of a flabbergasted Varric and equally shocked Isabela. “This will fund your clinic for some time.”  


“I didn't expect we would win this much!” Anders laughed, the sound hanging in the night air. “This will keep the clinic stocked for the next three months!” He looked at Fenris, and Fenris was struck by the warmth and affection the man conveyed with his eyes alone.  
Fenris had planned to say something, wanted to tease Anders for his selflessness, or suggest that the mage buy himself a less threadbare outfit, but that gaze took the words out of his mouth. He shut his mouth and looked away, his face heating up all the way to the tips of his ears.  


“Thank you, Fenris.” Anders murmured, rubbing his thumb against Fenris's knuckles, careful to avoid the lyrium lines that ran down the back of his hand. “I... you really didn't have to. You're a good man.” Anders was smiling, not the broad smile he gave when he was with their friends, or the playful grin he'd give his youngest patients, or even the sarcastic smirk he wore when he sassed a guard or Templar. No, this was soft, a tender curve of his lips that was almost shy and absolutely sincere. This was a smile for Fenris and Fenris alone, and he treasured it more than any coin.  


“I wanted to help you get one over Isabela.” Fenris said. His voice sounded faint, as if it came from far away. That smile was enchanting, and it was for him. The mage, he realized, did not need to cast magics to ensnare him so firmly. His own pleasure was enough.  


Fenris wondered when he stopped considering his closeness to Anders as a bad thing.  


“Well, you did that! She probably suspects something's between us now. Sorry.” Anders said, stopping outside Fenris's doorstep as Fenris unlocked the door. “I... I suppose I should get back to my clinic. Workers to heal, writing to do-”  


“I would have you here.” Fenris stated, then hastily added more to his abrupt demand. “If you are agreeable.”  


“If I'm agreeable, he asks? Ha!” Anders muttered, but he let Fenris usher him into the mansion and escort him up the stairs to the bedroom. Anders went to the fireplace and tended to it, summoning flames from his fingertips to set the wood burning. Fenris knew he would never be easy with such casual use of dangerous magic. How many times had Anders shouted “Go suck on a fireball!” to their opponents before raining terror from the skies? But they had found a compromise, as difficult as it was. Anders sat back on his heels once the blaze crackled merrily.  


“There!” He sighed as he stood up, wincing when the joints in his knees popped. “That should do it.” Fenris stood away from Anders and the firelight, slowly removing his gauntlets and weapon, setting each piece of equipment in its proper place. He peeled off the armor to his leather jerkin and leggings, and reminded himself to perform a more through cleaning of his equipment. There were stains.  


“Fenris,” Anders asked, peering down into Fenris's eyes, “may I ask a question?”  


“I thought you already were.” Fenris couldn't help it, the joke tripping from his tongue before he could stop himself. Anders gave him that exasperated, fond look that made Fenris feel foolish and warm. He found himself wanting to stumble over more of his words, let Anders hear more of his thoughts, anything for Anders and his affection. Kindness chained him tighter than any beating of Danarius's, and Fenris gladly wore these chains.  


“You love to tease me.” Anders murmured, stepping so close they were chest to chest. “I... I wanted to know if you were fine with what happened in the Hanged Man. I don't think any of them know about us, but I'm sure they suspect. Anything more and...” Anders sighed, his breath ruffling Fenris's hair. “What should we tell them? Do you want to keep pretending? It's hard but I can try-”  


“They will find out regardless.” Fenris said, cutting Anders's blabbering off with a firm word. He reached up and gripped the mage's hips in his hands to hold him in place. “We will not lie to our friends.”  


“Sebastian is not my friend.” Anders mumbled, but he relaxed his tall, bony body against Fenris, awkwardly burrowing his head in the crook of Fenris's neck.  


“But he is mine.” Fenris murmured back. “I do not wish to hide what we have, but I do not want them to scrutinize it.” Fenris's breath ruffled the blond hair under his lips. “It is complicated.”  


“We'll sort it out, Fenris.” Anders promised. “Thank you for inviting me in.”  


“You are welcome here, Anders. I have made this clear.”  


“Yes, you have.” Anders pulled back slightly. “But I like asking.”  


“No one else does.” Fenris found it to be another peculiarity about Anders. All of their companions would invade his home in some fashion, but Anders would wait on the door step until Fenris verbally told him to step inside. Yet Anders's visits were the ones Fenris found himself anticipating the most. No one respected his boundaries, no one but Anders.  


“I do not understand it.” Fenris shook his head. “Our companions will barge in, but you will wait. You aren't normally so solicitous with the others.”  


“It's a bit silly.” Anders confessed. “It's... you have had so many things taken from you, Fenris. I want you to at least have a space for yourself, no one else. So I wait until you're ready.”  


Warmth bloomed in Fenris's chest. He understood. Anders, a mage with power burning at his fingertips, power he could summon with his will, saw how deeply Fenris valued his privacy. More importantly, he understood why. No one had ever understood, thinking Fenris stand-offish and proud. But Anders knew it was Fenris's way of reveling in his own being. This was his way of establishing his own identity. He was a body, a body who could take up space separate from that of a master. He had his own space, and he could choose who he invited in it.  


Fenris carded his hand through Anders's red-gold locks and enjoyed the slightly tangled, rough texture of the strands. It was not silken and soft as it was in the nightmares. Anders admitted that as a younger man they would have been. But he now found that he had little need for finery and little time for anything more than a quick wash with plain rough soap. Anders closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation as Fenris continued to comb through his hair with his fingers.  


“Keep that up and I'll be begging for you to take me to bed.” Anders mumbled, and Fenris felt the familiar conflicting emotions of lust and dread coursing through his body, hot and cold all at once. Anders blinked and stepped back, apologies already forming on his lips.  


“Oh, knickerweasels, Fenris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed, I know it's still sensitive for you-” Anders babbled, regret and shame filling his eyes and feeding Fenris's own embarrassment.  


“I am well.” Fenris replied, swallowing his anxiety. “It is difficult but not unmanageable. And I...” He sighed, frustration welling up inside of him because he was useless and terrible at this, at all of this- “I find myself wanting.” He concluded softly. “I find myself wanting and I don't know what to do with it.”  


“I will never push you.” Anders promised. “This will always be your choice.”  


“I have no desire to force myself on you.” Fenris said, dropping his gaze to their feet. It had been months and Anders assured him that he wanted him, but Fenris sometimes found himself doubting the man's sincerity. It seemed absurd.  


“It wouldn't be force! I... Andraste's sacred arse, Fenris, I'm completely enamored with you!” Anders said, so earnest it hurt Fenris to hear it. “Justice keeps telling me how inappropriate this all is-”  


“Your spirit disapproves.” Fenris murmured. It did not come as a surprise. The spirit would have a negative view of him, and would protest the relationship between Fenris and his host. He had before.  


“He thinks I'm leading you into temptation and wants to protect your virtue.” Anders rolled his eyes. “So he's half ignoring us and half ripping into me every time I go too far.”  


“I want you here, Anders.” Fenris said, his voice wavering but his heart certain. “I want to... I want to try.”  


“Really?” Anders looked so hopeful that Fenris knew he would commit to this course without question. “Fenris, you don't have to feel obligated. Sex is amazing, and Maker I want to teach you, show you how good it can be when it's done right, but if you aren't ready...”  


“Would you stop if I asked?” Fenris questioned, already knowing the answer before Anders opened his mouth.  


“Of course.” Anders was not angry, not indignant when he said those words. He was confident. Calm. His reaction calmed the turbulence inside Fenris, and he found himself able to breath again.  


“Then we have no problems.” Fenris decided. “Take off your clothes.”  


“Fenris.” Anders sighed, eyes gentle and sweet again, “You are shit at seduction.” He took Fenris's hand and tugged him forward, walking backwards to the bed.  


“Come on, sweetheart. I'll take care of you.” Anders murmured, and Fenris followed. Anders's actions were familiar and comforting. It felt like every other night they were together. They would undress and curl up under blankets and whisper stories to each other as Fenris slowly acclimated to the idea and feeling of being touched. Sometimes he found it over-stimulating, but Anders found ways to calm him, calm them both. Tonight, Anders was treating this moment like every other night, and Fenris knew what to do.  
He was not afraid.  


Fenris believed that they fit together well. Anders pressed himself close to his side. Their legs tangled together, foreheads touching as Anders's hands ran up and down Fenris's back. Fenris sighed and brought his hands up to undo the many belts and buckles that held Anders's coat together.  


“Should've taken my boots off, sorry.” Anders mumbled between the light kisses he pressed against Fenris's throat. Fenris tugged the belts off and deposited them on the floor. The dropped on the worn carpet with a dull thud.  


“Then I will take them off for you.” Fenris pulled away from Anders's grip and turned his attention to undoing the laces of Anders's boots. Fenris ran his hands up the man's legs and kneaded his thumbs into the tense muscles of Anders's calves.  


“Maker, Fenris-” Anders moaned, head tossed back against the pillows. “Feels good, fuck!” Fenris found Anders's eagerness exciting, more enticing and wonderful than his fear and rejection.  


“You are rather eager.” Fenris replied, pulling himself up and straddling Anders's waist, his knees tight around his ribs. “What should I do next? What am I allowed?”  


“And you say I'm the eager one.” Anders teased him as he pulled Fenris down and pressed his lips against his mouth, warm and welcoming. Fenris felt like he should pull back, get Anders to speak with him more, but at the same time he had no desire to move away from what he found comfortable and warm and what he wanted.  


“I find myself desiring your tutelage.” Fenris said, running his hands back through Anders's hair. “I also want to please you, but I don't know how.”  


“First you can take off your clothes.” Anders was being cheeky, Fenris knew this the moments the words were said, but he felt awkward, unsure, shy. The markings didn't hurt, the pain worth bearing when it was accompanied with the closeness and warmth of a person he cared for. But the markings, the scarring- Fenris knew he looked unusual. People remarked on it enough, and Fenris felt that his body was a body. It functioned as it should. But the thought of Anders seeing how mutilated, how strange Fenris's body was... Fenris didn't know what to do. His silence and stillness had gone on too long, and Anders noticed Fenris's hesitancy. He struggled up until he was sitting on the bed, Fenris still straddling his thighs.  


“Love, what's the matter?” Anders murmured, brushing Fenris's hair out of his eyes. “Did I push too much again?”  


“No.” Fenris replied shortly. “It is me.” Anders stroked his sides, and Fenris felt his hands tremble against his ribcage. It took a moment to realize that Anders's hands were steady, and he was the one who was shaking. It took all his willpower to still himself.  


“It was... Anders, what Danarius did to my body... it is marred.” Fenris turned his head away so he couldn't see the pity in Anders's eyes. “I am... there are many things wrong with my body. I would not subject you to that. I can pleasure you without it, I am certain of it.”  


“Fenris, we all have scars.” Anders replied, voice soft and so full of understanding that Fenris wanted to curl up in the man's lap and sleep. “And I would not have you feeling left out. Besides,” Anders grinned at this, an understanding but still teasing grin, “I happen to like your body.”  


“It is another thing I do not understand about you.” Fenris remarked dryly, but his trembling ended. “But if you insist.” Fenris breathed deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly before undoing the laces of his jerkin and sliding it down his arms. Anders gaped, eyes wide, and Fenris felt himself blushing, shame coursing through his body. He was not beautiful, not alluring in any sense. Fenris had always found it odd that there were so many beautiful people amongst their companions, but he had never truly felt like the odd one out until this very moment as Anders stared at him. As Anders's eyes raked over his bare chest, Fenris understood what Merrill meant when she wished that she were more beautiful like Hawke.  


“Maker's breath, Fenris.” Anders croaked. “You're gorgeous.”  


“What?” Fenris asked, his voice short and almost angry. Anders would not be cruel, he reminded himself. Anders did not mock him before, there was no reason he would do so now. But it made no sense to Fenris. He was a body that functioned, not one to be admired. Anders's awe was more than... more than he had ever expected. He didn't know what to do with it.  


“Can- can I touch you?” Anders's voice was breathy, and he didn't seem to notice the turmoil his companion was in. “I really, really want to touch you, but I won't if you say no.”  


“You may.” Fenris replied. Anders's hands were on him again, carefully tracing calloused fingertips over his skin, touching around his lyrium markings. His hands went lower, until Anders was resting his palm against Fenris's stomach, warm and firm against the muscles of his abdomen. Anders leaned over and pressed his lips to the warm skin over Fenris's heart. Fenris almost believed in the sincerity of these actions. He wanted to believe in it.  


“You are so pretty.” Anders whispered as he pressed more kisses to Fenris's torso, going lower and lower. “Maker, Fenris, you have no idea how beautiful you are. You have no idea-”  


“Anders-” The man's hair brushed against Fenris's stomach and he twitched, the hair tickling some of his more sensitive markings. He bucked his hips upward at the touch, and the only Anders's grip on his hips prevented him for knockiing the man in the nose with his hipbones. “Sorry.”  


“It's okay.” Anders murmured, tugging at the lacing of Fenris's leggings. “Fuck, Fenris, can I please?”  


“Yes. But-” Fenris took a deep breath. This was Anders. Anders was special, and Fenris could ask Anders for things without Anders getting angry, or ending this, and he didn't want this to end.

“You must remove your shirt first.” Fenris ordered. Anders gave him a slightly amused look, his eyebrow raised and eyes full of good-natured humor. “It is only fair. It is the just thing to do.”  


“Please don't bring Justice into this, he has a hard enough time understanding the concept of sex.” Anders groaned, lifting his body off of Fenris's and tugging his shirt over his head.  


Fenris grinned and ran his hands along Anders's ribs, the man giggling as he lightly touched the sensitive skin. He had seen much of Anders's body. The man was not nearly as reserved as Fenris was. But despite his familiarity, Fenris didn't think he could ever tire of it and how different it was to his own. Anders's pale skin was dotted with freckles and scars, so many freckles that Fenris lost count when he tried to number them all. He enjoyed tracing his scars and learning the stories behind each one. He liked that every scar on Anders had a story he remembered, a story written on his body that could not be erased. Most of all, Fenris liked running his fingers through the wiry hair on Anders's chest, a darker burnished gold than the hair on Anders's head. He ran his fingers over a nipple, and Anders shuddered.  


“Maker, Fenris-” Anders groaned, his eyes almost shut in drowsy pleasure.  


“I am not the Maker, but thank you.” Fenris replied instantly, and Anders lazily slapped him on the arm.  


“You know what I meant. Ass.” But he was smiling, grinning down at Fenris as he leaned back down and kissed him. “Want you.”  


Those words set Fenris off, and he turned them around on his bed so he could hover over Anders, pressing his body up against Anders's and gasping into the man's mouth when their still clothed erections ground down against each other. Wanted. He was wanted, Anders wanted him even though he was a broken, awful thing. Anders found him desirable, thought he was beautiful, and even though the man was wrong Fenris treasured every little word.  


“Want you too.” Fenris murmured shyly, burying his face into Anders's chest. “So much.”  


“Good.” Anders breathed out. “I've got something that could work as slick, healing salve, smells like elfroot but it'll work in a pinch.” He scrambled out from underneath Fenris as Fenris undid the laces of his leggings and tugged them down, but Anders was back, the jar of salve set on the floor as he returned his hands to Fenris's hips and leggings.  


“Let me, love.” Anders whispered, pressing a kiss to Fenris's stomach. The muscles there undulated like a snake, and Fenris squirmed at the feeling of Anders's scratchy stubble against his tender skin. Anders was gentle as he removed the leggings, Fenris's erection springing up to rest against his stomach. Anders moaned. “Andraste's flaming arse, Fenris! You don't wear smalls under this?”

“Not tonight.” Fenris admitted, tugging at Anders's pants and tearing the worn cloth with his hands. “Sorry, I'll have them repaired-” 

“Don't worry about it now, just get them off!” Anders demanded, and Fenris complied, working the heavy linen off Anders's bony legs, followed by the pair of rough smalls until Anders was naked beneath him. 

“You are far more attractive in real life.” Fenris informed Anders, who puffed up with pride. 

“Of course I am! Demons get so many things wrong.” Anders pulled Fenris down for a quick kiss, teeth knocking against each other in their haste. “Now hurry up, I stretched earlier but I want you.” 

“Earlier?” Fenris questioned as he dipped his fingers into the salve. He knew about this step in coupling after an awkward meeting with Sebastian, in which he admitted he had never had anyone of his own free will. After that conversation Fenris resolved to just ask Anders for his advice on sex. So while Fenris had no memories of preparing his partners, he felt secure enough in his newly gained knowledge to try.

“So maybe I was hoping something would happen.” Anders mumbled, red faced and panting for breath as Fenris slipped a salve-coated finger inside of him. “Don't judge.”  
“There's a reason I wasn't wearing smalls tonight, mage.” Fenris replied, inserting another finger and stretching Anders's already relaxed body.  


“Looks like we were both anticipating this.” Anders laughed as he pressed kisses up and down Fenris's neck and jawline. His tongue brushed against Fenris's earlobe, and Fenris cried out loudly in surprise as a jolt of sharp, sweet pleasure raced through his veins. He felt Anders's smirk against his neck and frowned before sharply inserting a third finger into Anders and relishing his surprised gasp.  


“Is this... is this sufficient?” Fenris asked when Anders began to writhe on the mattress.  


“Yes, Fenris, just hurry up!” Anders whined, but Fenris hesitated, slipping his fingers out of Anders and grabbing more slick, slathering it on his cock. He wanted this, wanted it so badly it hurt his heart, but there was the fear again, the fear of hurting Anders, the fear that, despite all of his care and all of Anders's advice, it would hurt. He curled his fingers around Anders's hips and tried to calm himself. Anders must have sensed it, sensed his worry, and he placed his hand over his own.

“What's wrong, Fenris?” He asked, his tone so calm and even that Fenris felt the tension in him ease even as his desire rose.  


“Elves are... we are built differently than humans. It may be a surprise to you, but I do not wish to alarm you.” Fenris hesitantly said. He didn't want to drive Anders away because of his oddities.  


“Fenris, I know about knotting.” Anders said, and Fenris took comfort in the man's smile. “Trust me, there's nothing I'd like more than to cuddle up with you inside me after sex.” Fenris believed him, and gripped Anders's hips as he slowly entered the man, Anders letting him enter at his own pace. The man winced as the knot pushed through the tight ring of muscle, and Fenris nearly pulled out, alarmed at the fleeting expression of pain on Anders's face, but Anders wrapped his legs around Fenris's waist and urged him forward.  


“It's okay.” Anders panted out. “Been a while, that's all.” With Anders's encouragement, Fenris started a slow rhythm, building it up quickly to something they both could manage. Yes, it was warm and welcoming and there was so much friction, just like his nightmares with the demons, but it was different.  


“Anders.” Fenris fumbled with his hands, reaching out to grab Anders's and entwine their fingers as he gasped for breath and tried to kiss the man at the same time. It was complicated but perfect, and Maker he didn't want to leave this perfect moment, he wanted to hold on for just a little longer-  


“Fenris, it's okay, you can let go, it's fine-” Anders was babbling, gasping happy little laughs and Fenris was suddenly laughing too because it was too good not to laugh and he was too happy not to express his feelings somehow. Laughing turned to touching and kisses and whispered words of affection as they curled around each other.  


They didn't last long. It had been a long time for both of them. Anders hadn't had anyone in his bed for years, Fenris couldn't remember having anyone, and the two couldn't hold on, now sleepy, sated, and cuddled under the covers as the fire burned down to embers.  


“I'm sorry I couldn't draw it out longer.” Fenris mumbled his apology into Anders's hair. Anders chuckled, his hand tracing down Fenris's back as if he were petting a cat.  


“Don't apologize. It was, this is perfect.” He said, voice hoarse. “You were perfect.”  


“I'll get better at it.” Fenris promised, looking into Anders's eyes, their foreheads touching.  


“Maker help us all, you're going to keep me in your bed with your bedroom eyes and promises.” Anders groaned happily and turned them over so he was on top of Fenris, pressing him down into the mattress with his weight. They fell asleep holding hands.  


With Anders's presence at his side, Fenris had no more dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of Dream Visions. Thank you to everyone who read, commented, gave kudos, bookmarked, and encouraged me in my first venture in the Dragon Age fandom! I may write a few one-shots for Dream Visions in the future, but they will be very scattered as I work on other writing projects. This would not have been possible without your interest and support! I hope you all enjoyed reading this work as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thanks again!


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